Kyle's Jeans
by AllzStar
Summary: He's wearing those pants again. The dark-washed, tight-ass jeans that cling to his slim legs and tight, round buttocks. I can't help gawking at him when he's wearing those goddamn pants. Damn you, Kyle Broflovski, for making me love you. KyleXCartman.
1. I've Got To Stop

**Kyle's Jeans**

_By AllzStar_

_Author's Note: I'm not sure how far this will go. Might even be just a one-shot. It was worth a try, either way._

_**Chapter One – I've Gotta Stop**_

Damn it. He's wearing those pants again. Those dark-washed, tight-ass jeans that cling to his slim legs and tight, round buttocks. I can't stop myself from looking at him when he's wearing those goddamn pants. They're unbearably sexy. _He's _unbearably sexy—more so than usual—when he wears them. The tight t-shirt and loose blazer he's got on just make my stomach clench sickeningly. Damn you, Kyle Broflovski, for being so goddamn appealing.

He's loping along next to Stan Marsh, the straight-as-a-flag-pole football star with the muscles to prove it. Marsh, the little bitch who had caught Kyle's sexual attention long ago, is oblivious to his best friend's feelings, brushing them off as 'best-friends-being-so-close-they-can-cuddle-on-the-sofa-and-it-doesn't-mean-anything'. Right. If there's one thing I know about Kyle Broflovski, it's that he's warm for Stan Marsh's form.

Gay. Queer. Homosexual. Like me, only much more obvious about it. Kyle, the little tight-ass Jew with the blushing rosy cheeks and small, cherubic mouth, is gay. Gay, gay, gay. I've known for a long time, longer than he has. But for some reason, I've never had the guts to call him on it. Something just tells me that would destroy him. And...he'd never talk to me again. That I couldn't live with.

Because, for some insane reason I cannot fathom, and against all that I've worked on in our lives to make him hate me, I love Kyle Broflovski.

And goddamnit, those stupid sexy pants are driving me insane.

"Hey, fatass," Kyle chimes as he approaches me. Stan's zoned out; probably thinking about Wendy's tits, or something farfetched like that.

I can't believe even that stupid childhood nick name makes my heart quiver.

I also can't believe that throughout my childhood I ridiculed gay people, only to become one myself.

Well, I'm not gay.

I'm just in love with one of my best guy friends. That's not gay, right? I mean, I still like girls. Yeah. Boobs are hot. Mmm. But Kyle...Kyle strikes something deep inside of me. Now, _that _sounds gay.

Maybe it's because he looks like a girl?

I can't stop my eyes from travelling up and down his slight body. Slight is putting it mildly. He's not _skinny, _exactly. He's got meat on his bones. He's just...tiny. Small. Delicate-looking. Petite. You'd think a seventeen-year-old guy would cover up his pixie-like form with baggy clothes or something, but instead Kyle seems to flaunt it. With those jeans. Goddamn. He's like a fucking angel.

Whatever. It's not my fault Kyle wears his pants way too tight to be straight. If he wants to look gay, well...I'm not complaining.

"Hey, Jew," I call back, quickly bringing my eyes back to his face. His soft, heart-shaped, freckles face. His orb-like green eyes. "Where's Kenny?"

"Hungover," Stan replies easily, his thick lips twisting into a Cheshire-cat grin. "Poor kid really hit the Jack last night."

He's talking, of course, about Craig's pre-grad party. It went down last night. I went, mostly because I knew Kyle would be there.

I meet Kyle's eyes now. He blushes and looks away (damn it, he's so adorable when he blushes). I know what he's thinking. Remembering.

"_Where the hell is Kyle?" I asked Stan, even though Wendy was pretty much giving him a lap-dance. _

"_Dunno," Stan replied lazily, licking his lips and smiling at me sloppily. "Probably in the bedroom." He raised his eyebrows suggestively._

"_Doubt it," I retorted snappishly. "Fuck you, Marsh. You sick perv. Take care of your friends." With that I got up and stormed away from him and his slutty-ass girlfriend. _

_Kyle was delusional if he seriously thought he stood a chance with Stanley Marsh. Wendy's vag was so loose from his cock he could probably get his fist in there, too, right alongside his huge cock. And Stan's hands we're the dainty little things that Kyle's were. _

_For lack of better things to do, I decided to search for the little Jew in question. I allowed myself the amusement of following Marsh's suggestions and head upstairs towards the bedrooms. I've been to Craig's house several times before, so I knew for a fact that there were three bedrooms in this house._

_The master bedroom was occupied by two chicks who were smoking a joint. They invited me to join them, but I reluctantly declined, proceeding with my mission._

_Craig's sister's room was empty._

_I padded across the hall to Craig's bedroom and paused at the door to listen. Yeah, there was definitely something going on in there. My gut seized with jealously, my fists clenching, ready to knock out the douche that Kyle was with._

_That's when I heard a muffled cry inside, and I swore I heard someone yell "HELP!"_

_I turned the knob and shoved the door open._

_The scene I saw before me will haunt me till I die._

_Kyle was bent over Craig's desk, his pants down around his ankles. The host himself was holding Kyle down, his hand slapped over the small Jew's mouth to muffle his cries. Craig was grinding his hips against Kyle's ass, and I can tell you, Kyle wasn't enjoying it._

_Craig looked up when I came in, the expression on his face indifferent to my presence. He probably figured I wouldn't give a rat's ass that he was about to rape my friend; maybe he even thought I'd help him out. Boy, was he surprised when I flew forward and connected my fist with his jaw as hard as I could._

_Kyle immediately gathered his pants up and did up his belt. Craig was swearing like a sailor as I grabbed Kyle's arm and pulled him from the room._

"_Where are we going?" Kyle asked, his voice shaking slightly. I can feel his arm vibrating under my hand as his entire body succumbs to shivers._

"_Away from here," I growled, tugging him along. We went downstairs and hightailed it for the front door. I shielded Kyle's view of the living room with my body as we passed it; he really didn't need to see Stan and Wendy fornicating on the couch, both with their shirts off._

_I shoved him in my car and then got in myself. "I'm driving you home," I told him as I booted up the engine, twisting the key in the ignition so hard I was scared I'd broken the key._

_Kyle just nodded and looked out the window, his small face pinched with fear. His small form was shaking; his fingers drummed against his thigh like rain against the window. I leaned forwards to switch on the heat, turning it up full blast. Pretty soon I was sweating, but I didn't care. I just wanted him to stop shaking. To feel better._

_We were halfway to his house when he spoke in a very small voice. "Why did you do that?"_

_I raised my eyebrow. "Do what?"_

"_Save me."_

_I shrugged. "Intuition."_

"_But you didn't have to."_

"_Would you rather I'd just let him rape you?" I demanded hotly, looking at him pointedly._

_Kyle shook his head slowly. I looked back at the road, but I could still feel his eyes on my face."Thank you."_

_I murmured a gruff "you're welcome" before scolding him. "You've gotta watch out for people like that, Kyle."_

"_People like that?" Kyle repeated, looking at me with wide eyes. "Like Craig?"_

_I nodded sagely. "Perverts."_

_Kyle scowled. "Need I remind you that I'm the same age as everyone at that party?"_

_I shot him a look. "I know that. But they're still horny perverts, looking for a piece of ass. And you...well, Kyle, you're just..." I trailed off, hoping he'd get the point._

_He didn't. "I'm just what?" he asked innocently._

_I shook my head. "Never mind. You just need to...watch out. I'm not always gonna be here to save your ass."_

"_I don't need you to save my ass," Kyle snapped immediately, defending his dignity now. "And I want to know what I am, why the perverts like me."_

_So he did know. He just wanted to hear it from me. _

_I hope._

"_You're _tiny, _Kyle. You're breakable. Sick perverts like Craig like that, because, well, the smaller the person, the younger they seem, and the younger they seem, the tighter their ass is. They just...it's like raping a kid." I was clutching the steering wheel so hard my knuckles were white. "Sick bastards. It makes me nauseous."_

_Kyle stared at the dashboard, his small face blank. "They like me because I'm little?" he asked no one in particular._

_I looked at him, feeling my face go pale. "Kyle...this isn't the first time this has happened, is it?"_

_He shook his head and looked out the window._

"_When did it happen?" Damn it. He made me go all soft. _

_Kyle didn't answer. Instead he said, "You just passed my house."_

"_Shit." I turned the car around and pulled up in front of Kyle's house._

"_Where are you going to go?" Kyle asked without looking at me._

_I shrugged. "I dunno. I'll probably go back. Gotta make sure Kenny doesn't drink himself sick again. And I've got some business to attend to."_

_Kyle looked at me sharply, his thin red brows knitted together. "Don't start any trouble, Cartman. The last thing we need is Craig on our asses." He blushed when he realize the double meaning to his sentence._

_Before I could stop myself I reached over to rumple his hair. "Get outta here, kid," I said softly, giving him a gentle push towards the door._

_He smiled and I nearly passed out on the steering wheel. He undid his seat belt and stepped out of the car. He waved through the window before flouncing up the steps to his house. I watched him until the front door closed._

_I sighed and pulled away from the curb. I hated that the tiny Jew had this affect on me._

I lift my chin in Kyle's direction. "You okay?"

He nods shyly, looking at the ground. Stan looks from him to me and back again, but doesn't comment. There's an awkward pause. Stan breaks it first. "Did either of you sleep last night?"

I shrug. "Nah."

"I did," says Kyle, perking up a little. "My ears were ringing all night, though. They had that music on so loud."

"Mine are still ringing," Stan says, pressing his palm against the side of his head.

"I'm sure they are," I growl, sneering at Stan. The dark-haired boy looks at my questioningly. "Wendy scream in your ear one too many times, Marsh?"

Stan turns beet red while Kyle blanches. Shit. Now I've gone and hurt him. Shit, shit. Shit! I shouldn't feel guilty hurting Kyle! I spent all my childhood finding ways to make his life miserable. Why do I care so much now? Why can't I stand to see that hurt look in his big green eyes? Am I insane?

No. Just gay.

Gay for Kyle.

Who is also gay. For Stan. Who loves Wendy. Who's been boinked by Kenny several times.

It's a big, goddamn love triangle.

Fuck those goddamn jeans.


	2. Loving Him

**Kyle's Jeans**

_By AllzStar_

_Author's Note: Well, I got a couple of reviews, so I decided to round this story out a little bit. ^^_

_**Chapter Two — Loving Him**_

Gym class will be the end of me. The fucking end. Sweaty guys. All shirtless. Perspiring every which way. Stinky and unappealing. Except for the delicate baby in the corner, hiding underneath a grey t-shirt that's at least seven sizes too big for him.

"Earth to Cartman!" Clyde yells in my face, waving his hand back and forth. "Do we have a connection or are you still on Planet Kyle?"

"Shut the fuck up," I growl, pulling on my sweatpants. Ever since Stan started getting serious with Wendy, the group split up. Clyde's kind of my best friend now. Him and Kenny. Stan's got his own posse. Kyle's the odd man out. I unknowingly, and at first unwillingly, took him under my wing. The kid needed a friend. Now that douche-bag Stan has pissed right off, Kyle's more vulnerable than ever.

Unfortunately, the dumb Jew still thinks Stan's his best friend.

I join Clyde and Kenny in the gym. Craig hasn't been at school all week. A good choice, considering if I ever see him again I will actually beat the shit out of him for what he almost did to Kyle.

"Hey, Fatass," Kyle greets somewhat affectionately, coming up behind me and touching my back.

I jump at the contact and try to ignore the woeful look on his face."Oh, hey, Jew," I say gruffly, turning away from him. I can't stand looking at him in public; it's all I can do to keep from pressing him against the wall and...and...dot, dot, dot. I can't even finish that sentence. Let's just say, there's something about Kyle Broflovski that makes me want to do things to him that I've never thought about doing to anybody, not even a chick.

As Kenny goes on about how drunk he was last night, I listen to the brief exchange Kyle and Stan have behind me.

"Hey, Stan," Kyle offers. "How was football practice last night?"

"Good," Stan says roughly, squaring his shoulders and stretching his thick arm across his chest.

"Only you didn't have football practice," Kyle says sharply.

"Uh. Yeah, I did."

"You didn't, because Token didn't, and he's on your team. So what's your excuse for bailing on me this time?"

"Kyle—"

"I'm sick of this. You keep ditching me for things that never used to be important."

"Maybe they're important now."

"And I'm not?"

"I have a life, Kyle. Other friends. Activities that mean a lot to me. There's more to life than video games and truth or dare."

"I feel like I'm losing you."

"Maybe you are."

My peripheral vision watches Stan strut across the gym to join his pea-brain boner buddies. I want to comfort Kyle, who I know is silently crumpling behind me, but hold back, determined not to be seen being empathetic in public, especially not at school with all these dudes around. Hey, I got an image to keep up. It's not much of an image, but it's an image nonetheless.

Gym class starts out normal and uneventful. I catch myself making bedroom eyes at Kyle more than once, hopefully before anybody else does. He goes through the motions—four laps round the gym, push-ups, sit-ups—robotically, his face blank, his limbs slack. Coach calls him on it more than once, practically humiliating him in front of everyone. I catch the girls on the other side of the gym giggling as Kyle gets disciplined for the third time and promptly tell them to fuck off with an obscene gesture involving my middle finger. Their lesbian coach sees it, gets mad. There's a loud argument between the stereotypical gym teachers.

Finally, when the excitement dies down, Coach calls the boys together for a rugby scrimmage outside. I can see _shit _written all over Kyle's small face. He's gonna get _flattened. _

I owe it to myself to protect him. I'd behaved so far this class, except for the whole flipping-off incident. I've restrained from fucking him against the wall. I can look out for him, can't I? Without looking exuberantly gay? Yeah, that's perfectly reasonable. Right?

So the scrimmage starts. Marsh has the ball. I aim an especially rough tackle towards him, lunging at him with all my weight, which seriously is still twice his despite his fit bulk. We hit the ground with such force the ground beneath us shakes slightly. I'm covered in seconds by the other members of his team. Point one for Stanley Marsh. Fucking Mick.

Yeah, I kind of hate Stan Marsh. In case you hadn't noticed.

The next round begins shortly afterwards. Thankfully, Kyle is on my team. I stay unnecessarily close, practically on top of him, shielding him from the enormous guys on the other team. Kyle is easily the smallest, weakest one there. One blow from one of these bastards and he's down for the night.

Kyle keeps trying to get around me, but I block him. I can hear him getting frustrated as he tries to move left; I block his way immediately.

"Fuck off, Cartman!" Kyle yells, slapping his hands against my back as if to push me. His tiny arms don't even budge the fat on my back.

"What do you mean?" I ask innocently, giving him a shit-eating grin just to piss him off.

"Stop blocking me!" he yells.

"HEY, BLOCKHEADS!" Coach yells. "IF YOU DON'T START PLAYING YOU'RE GIVING ME FIFTY PUSH-UPS!"

Kyle grumbles something that sounded like "Fucking bastard", but I can't be sure if he's talking about me or the Coach.

Four more rounds pass by before it happens.

Token Black tackles me. The ball springs from my hands. Kyle picks it up.

"No!" I shout; my eyes have already found Stan bolting towards his fragile ex-best-friend. "Kyle look out—!"

Stan slams all his weight into Kyle before the redhead can move a muscle. The two of them go down in a heap, and for a moment I truly think Kyle is dead; Stan squished him to death. But I see the tiny, pale hand flailing from beneath the bulking body, and I'm quick to pull Stan off of him. I give him a punch to the nose, for good measure.

"Fuck!" he yells, pinching his now bloody nose. "What the hell is your problem, Cartman?"

I ignore him and pull Kyle to his feet, inspecting the damage. There's a scrape under his eye that's caked with dirt and a bloody cut on his lip. There's a rip in the knee of his track pants.

"Bathroom," I say, taking his arm and pulling him away from the group.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" Coach yells after us. I ignore him and pull Kyle into the school.

"Cartman—fuck—let me go!" Kyle whines as I guide him to the nearest bathroom.

"Do you want a swollen face?" I say as I shove the bathroom door open. I lead him to the sink and take him by the hips, lifting him with ease and sitting him on the counter. He's beat red when I pull away, but I continue anyway, ignoring it. "That scrape is gonna get infected if we don't clean it," I explain, wetting a paper towel and moving it over the wound.

He winces when the water comes in contact. He looks at me with cautious eyes, his mouth pinched. "Why are you doing this?" he asks.

I don't look at him. "Doing what?"

"Helping me."

"Because it's my fault the son of a bitch tackled you."

"Don't call Stan that," Kyle snaps, his green eyes aflame.

"Oh, open your eyes!" I cry, tossing the paper towel into the garbage. "Stan Marsh isn't your friend anymore! He's a douche! A big, festering asshole. You need to realize that he's not good for you anymore! Whatever cloud you're on, get down from it, before he hurts you even more." As a quick recovery from my inexplicable outburst, I hand him a tissue to wipe his bleeding lip with.

Kyle is staring at me, his emerald eyes wide with shock. I don't dare meet his gaze. "Eric..."

"Save it," I snap.

"Cartman, wait."

"Clean yourself up." I pull the bathroom door open. "I'm done looking out for you."


	3. Or I Might Swear In Class

**Kyle's Jeans**

_By AllzStar_

_Author's Note: Whoa! I opened my inbox today and had fifty e-mails from Fan Fiction dot net! I guess you people like this story! It's weird because I'm not a huge fan of KyleXCartman (not at all, actually...I much prefer Style), but I liked the idea of adding some depth and humanity to Cartman's character. Anyway, enough of my little rant thing. Enjoy this chapter!_

_**Chapter Three – Or I Might Swear In Class**_

Okay.

So I was way overprotective of Kyle today.

So I touched his hips and his cheek and gave him a lecture about douche-bag boner Stan Marsh.

So I can barely stand looking at him and knowing I'll never have him in _that way. _

I'm still Eric Cartman. A big fucking erect dick. I pride myself on being a class-A prick, a big bulking guy that normal dudes avoid and girls gawk at in the hallway, trying to decide if I'm hot or not. I still have that shit-eating smirk on my face, the maniacal thoughts, the outrageous midnight outings and gang-bangs. And maybe, _maybe_ I'm thinking of going on a diet and losing a few pounds. I'm not _fat, _exactly—not anymore. Just intimidatingly big. Wide. Broad. Whatever.

And he's so...tiny. Breakable. Like porcelain. And his hair is so fucking red. Like blood on snow. I swear to God. Not like that ugly orange-copper colour you see on other ginger douches. Kyle has legit red hair. Blood-red. The kind I used to finger-paint with.

I could paint a picture of Kyle if I tried. Really, I could. Not like a fucking portrait, or anything. If I smeared colours onto an empty canvas in an intricate and interesting pattern, it would be a representation of Kyle. Brilliant reds, warm greens, blushing pinks, peaches, creams, rich browns, bright oranges and blues and all the colours of the fucking rainbow.

I might as well write a fucking poem about him. That was all a metaphor, or some shit, wasn't it?

English class has finally gotten to my head.

So I'm in the godforsaken class, just sitting with my fist on my cheek and my mind in the clouds. Kenny is drawing boobs in the margin of his notebook, his tongue sticking out slightly as he gets the detail on the nipples just right. His thick blond bangs hang over his face like an overhang of snow; his fingernails are crusty with dirt and who knows what else. I've taken to studying Kenny because Kyle respects him.

Kyle himself is in this class, nestled in the corner with Butters and some other losers. Since I'm squished in the very back, I can easily sneak glances at him without anybody noticing. Except Kenny because he notices everything. Observant son of a bitch.

"Take a picture," Kenny murmurs without looking up from his doodles, "it'll last longer."

"Ha ha," I growl, nudging him in the protruding ribs with my elbow. When I glance at him I can see his mouth pulled up in a smile, his inexplicably white teeth biting down on his bottom lip.

Yeah, Kenny kind of knows about my thing with—_for—_Kyle. I never told him, God forbid—he just figured it out. Because he's one hell of an observant prick. It bothers the hell out of me, but in all honesty, Kenny's a good kid. A good guy to have around. A happy-go-lucky, care-free dude who also knows how to be serious when it matters is what I need to keep me grounded.

So the teacher rambles on at the front of the class, and I go on not paying attention, and Kenny goes on drawing boobs and vaginas on his notebook, and Kyle goes one paying rapt attention to the lecture, his bright eyes alert and soft cheeks slightly pink.

"So, I might need your help after school today," Kenny murmurs to me, still not looking up from his drawings.

I raise my eyebrow. "What with?"

"Gotta take care of some stuff," he replies easily. "Marsh is gonna come at me like a bull seeing red, man."

I sigh and close my eyes. "He found out?"

"Boy, did he." Kenny smiles that million-dollar shit-eating grin, running a hand through his tousled blond hair. "He totally walked in on Wendy giving me head."

"Fuck," I whisper, because the teacher has glared at us at least four times now. "How did that play out?"

"How'd you think I got this?" Kenny turns his face and I see the large purple splotch covering his left eye.

"Jesus H. Christ." I lean forwards to get a better look at the impressive shiner. "Wow. As much as I hate the douche, Stan Marsh has a fist of goddamn _iron._"

Kenny nods, turning back to his doodles. "He said he'd kill me after school today," he says quietly, and for the first time, I think Kenny might actually be scared of dying.

I snort and sit back in my chair. "Well, whatever. If he does, come back tomorrow and stab him in his sleep."

Kenny gives me a look, and then I know he actually is scared. "Not Stan, dude."

"You and I both know things are never going back to normal." I lean in closer so I won't be overheard. "I totally think Kyle scared him away."

Kenny nods sagely. "He totally did. Stan acts like he doesn't care, but he does. But, dude, don't go around calling Stan names like that. He was our friend for so long."

"Yeah, but he's not anymore," I reply firmly. "He's a dick."

"When has he ever done anything to you?"

"I don't give a flying fuck about any shit he shoved down my pants." My teeth grind together as I speak. "He's been nothing but a prick to Kyle, and that's not gonna fly. Not now, not ever. And I'll call him whatever name I please until he realizes that."

Kenny suddenly smiles, stretching his arm behind my chair. "Awe, Cartman. You do have a heart!"

"I don't," I snap, slapping his hand away. "Just something I can't afford to lose." I shoot a meaningful look over my shoulder. At the same time Kyle turns his head. Our eyes meet. His eyes are wide, as if curious, the eraser end of his pencil pulling at his bottom lip. He doesn't know it, but his expression is almost sensual, and my pants suddenly get tight. I look away and completely turn my back on him, sitting sideways in my seat, facing Kenny. "Fuck."

"Eat too much at lunch?" Kenny teases as I pull my shirt down over my crotch.

"Fuck off," I spit, not meeting his gaze. I've gotten boners in school before, sure. What guy hasn't? But not for another dude, man. That's just insane. Kyle actually turns me on; this world is so fucked up.

"Don't blame you dude," Kenny hisses, sliding closer to whisper in my ear. "Those jeans are damn _fine._"

Let me get this straight right now: Kenny is the straightest guy you will ever meet. All he ever wants, dreams of, is pussy. He just acts gay sometimes. And that's why people love him. Don't ask me why, dude. I really don't know.

"Man, I just wanna, like, take my dick, and shove it into that tight—"

"You're heading right towards another black eye, bitch," I snap, glaring at him.

"Just sayin', man," Kenny replies, his eyes wide as he pouts innocently. "_Someone's _gotta give their sexual fantasies a chance to bloom and bubble to the surface."

"I don't have sexual fantasies!" It's a downright lie, and he knows it, but I defend myself anyway. "I just like looking out for him. It makes me feel needed, or something gay like that."

"Cartman, it's okay to be gay," Kenny says sympathetically, patting me on the arm.

"I'm not fucking gay!" I hiss. "I'm just—"

"In love with Kyle."

"I'm not _in love _with him. I just—"

"Wanna stick your dick in his ass."

"No, I—"

"Have wet dreams about him?"

"I hate you."

"I love you, too," Kenny chides as the bell rings. He gathers his stuff at the speed of sound and is out the door before I've even picked up my binder.


	4. I Hate This Part Right Here

**Kyle's Jeans**

_By AllzStar_

_Author's Note: So...I guess people are liking this story?? :)_

_**Chapter Four – I Hate This Part Right Here**_

"Cartman!"

Ugh. Go away. Please go away.

"Cartman! Wait up!"

Shit.

I keep walking, but he still catches up to me. I guess his petite frame allows him to easily slip between people in these packed-like-sardines hallways. I feel his tiny hand on my shoulder and turn to look at him with one eye raised. "Oh. Hey."

"Do you need hearing aids or something?" he asks, falling into step beside me as we join the flow of the crowd down the stairs. "I was calling you for, like, five minutes back there." He's got a little band-aid on his cheek to cover the scrape. On anyone else, it would look ridiculously gay. But on Kyle, it was just damn adorable. Shitfucker.

"Guess I didn't hear you over all these morons," I reply, gesturing to the buzzing throng of kids surrounding us. I'm constantly getting jostled and it's pissing me off. "What do you want?"

He shrugs, shoving his hands into the pockets of those...damn...jeans....

"I dunno, I guess. Did you get that lesson in English today?"

"Huh? English? Fuck if I pay attention to that psycho bitch." I roll my eyes and pull my pants up my ass. They've gotten into the incredibly irritating habit of falling down every time I go down stairs. Maybe I need a new belt?

"Oh." Kyle's small fingers wrap around the backpack straps over his shoulders as he shrugs into his orange jacket. "Well...I thought it was interesting." He looks up at me and I quickly erase the smirk I had on my face. "What were you and Kenny talking about all class?"

"Nothing, just random shit," I say. We've reached my locker. I reach to open it, spinning the dial around to the correct numbers. Kyle leans against the locker next to mine, studying me.

"Oh," he says again. "Looks like it was quite the conversation, though. Kenny had the biggest grin on his face."

"That's his default look, Kyle," I inform him as I mournfully pull my Earth Science textbook out for next block. I shut my locker and turn to him. "Do you want something?"

He looks surprised. "No."

"Then why are you hovering around?" I ask, raking a hand through my hair and glancing around at the sea of kids surrounding us. For a shitty-ass town like South Park, there are a helluva lot of kids in this school.

Kyle shifts his weight, looking at his feet. "I wanted to talk about this morning," he says softly. "In gym class."

"There's nothing to talk about," I say quite harshly. "See you later, Jew." I turn on my heel and start off (in the wrong direction) to my class.

"Why do you care so much?" Kyle calls at my back.

I stop and turn around, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

"Why do you suddenly care about me so much?" Kyle repeated, rolling onto the sides of his feet.

I blink several times trying to process in my muddled mind something that wouldn't wound him too deeply nor sound incredibly gay. I decided to play dumb. "What do you mean?" I ask stupidly. "I don't care about you." Ooh. Please don't get that hurt look in your eyes, Kyle. Stand tall. Please. Please...

For once, he listens. His jaw clenches and he nods once, his lips pinched. "It's just that all of a sudden you were, like, looking out for me. Washing dirt out of the scrape on my cheek, punching Stan in the nose because he was being a douche to me. I just wondered...why the compassion? I thought you hated me."

"I do, Kyle," I say simply, squaring my shoulders. "But I hate Marsh more. I'd use anything as an excuse to sock him in the nose." And with that I turn and walk away, tossing a quick "Bye, Jew!" over my shoulder.

*

I'm not gonna lie and tell you I'm so glad I didn't just confess all of my feelings back there. Part of me wants to tell Kyle how I feel. God forbid that fucking urge. I might as well just kill myself now and get it over with. Because confessing gay feelings to a guy you've known and pretended to hate all your life is just simply social suicide. And I can't afford that now, can I? Not now, not ever.

Anyway, so I'm lounging on my bed listening to some scream-o shit music that I've been listening to ever since Kenny tricked me into listening to it at his house a few weeks ago. It's shit, but fuck, is it ever catchy. I don't even know what the words are. But my foot bobs up and down, hanging off the end of the bed. I've grown five inches in the past six months, and I now take up my entire twin-sized bed. Time to do some begging and get at least a double.

I glance around my room. I think if I get a bigger bed the room would only appear even more crowded than it already was. My dresser, my TV, my huge-ass stereo and my drum kit take up so much room there is barely any room to move between pieces of furniture. I guess I could always move my drum kit downstairs, but that would be getting off my ass and actually using my muscles to lug it down two flights of stairs to my basement.

Screw it.

I'm about to drag my ass off of the bed and go raid the fridge, but my bedroom door opens before I can move.

"Well, hell-_OH _cocksucker!" Kenny crows pleasantly as he strides into my room.

I smirk. Nice. Real nice. Kenny's gonna come up with every derogatory word for gay under the sun and call me all of them within the span of the next two days. Guarantee it.

Karma's a fucking bitch, man.

"Nice to see you too, butt fucker," I retort lamely. What a stupid thing for a gay guy to call a straight gay. Only I'm not gay, so I guess that doesn't really matter?

If it were any other sonuvabitch storming into my room, I would have thrown a fucking fit and kicked them out immediately. But I'm used to Kenny just strolling into my bedroom unannounced and uninvited. He plops himself into my desk chair, straddling it backwards so that he's facing me.

"So, thanks for bailing on me this afternoon," he says casually, looking at his bitten-to-dust nails.

Fuck. I totally forgot. I look up at Kenny, truly trying to look apologetic. "Shit, Ken," I say, running a hand through my too-long brown hair. "I forgot. I'm sorry, man."

Kenny smiles wanly. "Don't worry 'bout it, man. Marsh never showed. Figures."

A let out a snort slash laugh thing that ends up sounding really stupid. I recover quickly with a snarky, "What a chicken shit."

"So I got some bad news," Kenny says, biting his lower lip.

I groan and flop back on my bed. "Spit it out," I say, throwing an arm over my face.

"You're not going to like it, dude."

"You brought it up, fucker. Just tell me."

Kenny, because he's a self-righteous boner, pauses dramatically before saying what he's been meaning to say this whole time. "I saw Kyle and Craig making out in the parking lot after school."

And, right there, my world falls apart.


	5. Where My Chest Hurts Like A Sonuvabitch

**Kyle's Jeans**

_By AllzStar_

_Author's Note: Sorry the last chapter was so short guys. Unfortunately, this one's not that much longer. :( Sorry! Review anyway?? :) The next one will be longer, I promise!!_

_**Chapter Five – Where My Chest Hurts Like A SOB**_

"You saw Kyle and _WHO_ making out?" I ask, gaping up at Kenny from my spot on my bed. I try to hide any evidence of my swelling chest and sinking heart that could be on my face. I'm not sure if I succeeded. One look at Kenny's sympathetic smile tells me that I fail miserably.

"Craig and Kyle," Kenny says quietly, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve.

"What do you mean by making out?" I demand, commencing the grilling process in which I find out every last detail about what actually went down.

"Like, kissing. Tonsil hockey. Tongue twister."

"What were they _doing_?"

"Why do you keep asking? They were kissing!"

"With tongue?"

"Looked like it."

"Were they, y'know, _groping?_"

"Well, Craig sure was," Kenny says, resting his pointed chin on the back of my desk chair. "Kyle seemed less into it."

"Where were they?"

"Craig was pushing Kyle against the door of his car."

"Whose car?"

"Craig's, moron. His goddamn Mercedes Benz."

"So are they, like, a mother fucking _ITEM_ now?" I yell, lifting my arms in the air like a madman. I'm losing it, I know, but I'm beyond caring.

Kenny sighs and rakes a hand through his thick blond hair. "I dunno, dude. I really don't. I didn't talk to them or nothing."

"This makes no sense!" I cry, grabbing a fistful of my hair and tugging on it painfully. "I just saved Kyle from getting raped by Craig this weekend at that goddamn party! What the hell is he doing making out with him in the goddamn parking lot!"

Kenny bites his lip and shrugs helplessly. "Maybe Kyle wasn't about to be raped."

I blink, coming out of my rage, and turn to him, my eyes narrowing. "What?"

"Well, if they _are_ seeing each-other, maybe Kyle wasn't about to be _raped_." Kenny spreads his hands out in front of him as if that can even be a _possibility._

"Dude, Kyle was _crying_. He wasn't enjoying anything Craig was doing to him."

Kenny shrugs again. "Maybe they're in one of those creepy relationships where they come up with violent and strange ways of hooking up."

I glare at him. "Think about what you just said, and then remember that this is fucking _Kyle Broflovski_ we're talking about."

"We're also talking about Craig, and that's exactly something _he_ would do." Kenny stands and wanders towards the door.

"Oh, no, you're not going _any_where!" I jump up and grab his wrist.

Kenny shakes me off, glaring down at me with annoyance. "No, I'm not going anywhere. _We _are. Come on." Then he grabs _my _wrist and tugs me out of my room, kicking my bedroom door shut behind me.

"Where the _fuck—fuck—fuck_ are we going?" I ask, adding an extra fuck to every clunk down the stairs as Kenny drags me out of my house.

"All the guys from our class are going over to Token's to watch the football game," Kenny explains as he pushes me into the passenger's seat of my car. "And we're going, too."

My fists clench around the leather upholstery. As Kenny climbs into the driver's seat. "You do realize that when I see Craig Tucker I'm going to smash him to a bloody pulp?"

"You're not," Kenny says as we rip out of my driveway and in the direction of Token's huge-ass mansion, "because if he and Kyle _are_ seeing each-other, I don't think Kyle would appreciate you knocking out his boyfriend."

"I don't give a flying fuck what Kyle thinks of it," I growl. "It's for his own good. Craig Tucker is a festering piece of fucking shit, and there's no way I'm gonna let him take any sort of advantage of Kyle."

"Kyle's not a baby, Cartman," Kenny snaps, glaring at me. "He can take care of himself, make his own mistakes. He's not going to appreciate it if you start acting like his mom. Back off."

"Well, I'm sorry if I don't want to see my friend get hurt," I spit, looking out the window to avoid Kenny's wise gaze. Fuck Kenny for making sense. For being smart. For knowing how to be. It pisses me off. Why can't he let me be irrational without making me feel like a little kid about it?

Kenny sighs. "You used to live for making Kyle miserable." He looks at me, and his expression is thoughtful. "You care about him a lot now, don't you?"

"I grew up," I murmur, pressing my nose against the window. "Realized stuff. Shit happens."

"Cartman, if you really feel so strongly about Kyle—"

"I don't need your fucking counselling or your sympathy, Kenny. This is my problem. You're not the one who has to worry about coming out of the mother fucking closet when you spent your whole childhood making fun of gays."

"Maybe not, but I have to worry about my friend who has to go through that." Kenny offers me a small smile which I can't help but half-heartedly returning. "And Kyle's my friend too, man. I want what's best for him, too. Now a year ago I never in a million years would have guessed that you're best for Kyle. But I don't know, now. You really seem to care about him. More than I thought you'd ever be capable of." He grins, and I do, too. He's right, the fucker. "But part of caring about someone is to know when to let them go. What if Kyle really actually likes Craig? Are you still going to try to rip them apart? What do you think that would do to Kyle? What do you think that would say about you?"

"Okay, okay, I get it," I snarl, smacking him on the shoulder. "But if Craig says or does anything at all suggestive..."

"I will restrain you myself," Kenny offers, smiling.

I roll my eyes and scoff. "As if you could hold me back, you skinny white trash hick."

Kenny lets out a peal of barking laughter as he pulls into Token's long, winding driveway. "Still," he says as we get out of the car, "try to keep it together, buddy. I'm here if you need me."

With that we exchange hair rumpling and grins, and make our way up to the front door.


	6. And My Palms Get All Sweaty

**Kyle's Jeans**

_By AllzStar_

_Author's Note: Thanks for all the great reviews everyone! They're really touching and inspire me to write more! :-)_

_**Chapter Six – And My Palms Get All Sweaty**_

Two hours later we're a quarter way through the biggest football game of the year. Every guy in the junior and senior classes of South Park High School is here, some sporting jerseys supporting our team, some with their faces painted, some with black streaks under their eyes. Even Kenny has painted a couple of dicks on his face in our team's colours. Then there's me, wearing my usual hoodie and jeans.

Stan and his douche bag football posse are the most into it, cheering and hollering and crowing "HROO, HROO, HROO" every time we got a goddamn touchdown. It's really fucking annoying, and I don't hesitate to tell them so. What did that earn me? A cushion in the face and a cup of Root Beer down the front of my shirt. Great.

When I said every guy from the junior and senior classes is here, I was lying. Kyle's not here. Butters isn't here, either, but I don't really care about him. Craig is here, however, getting piss-drunk with Token and Clyde and squirting whipped cream into his mouth straight from the can. It's disgusting. Everything Craig does is disgusting, from the blonde streaks in his black hair to the dirt caked in his nails. Funny how I never noticed this stuff before.

As we score yet another touchdown, completely pwning the other team, I let my mind wander. I wonder where Kyle is. What he's doing. Why he's not here, partying with the dudes. I guess Kyle's intellectual ability is way too beyond the intelligence level of these morons. Maybe it's a good thing he's not here.

Especially since Craig is.

I consider questioning Craig. He doesn't seem to remember the incident on Saturday night, although I notice somewhat smugly that there's a fading bruise decorating his jaw. I ask Kenny if he thinks asking Craig is a good idea. He says no. I do it anyway.

I find the fucker in the kitchen, searching through the cupboards for something. I look on with distaste. Craig Tucker _would _go through the cupboards in some _else's _kitchen. What a douche.

"Hey, Tucker," I say conversationally, my hands buried in my pockets.

His head pokes over the top of the pantry doors. "Oh, hey, Cartman," he replies coolly. My heart sinks. Maybe he does remember Saturday night.

"Listen, man, I'm sorry for what happened on Saturday night," I say sheepishly. I can't believe I'm apologizing to this lowlife parasite that hardly deserves the dignity of gum on my shoe.

He closes the pantry door and turns to me. His search must have been unsuccessful; his hands are empty. He raises an eyebrow questioningly. "What happened on Saturday night?" he asks.

Aha. He doesn't remember. _Nice. _Time to play with his head. "Oh, you know. I'm sorry I walked in on you and Kyle."

His face falls and then he tries to put it back together in a confused expression. "Huh?"

"You know." I wave my hand as if conjuring an image into his mind. "When I walked in on you and Kyle..._fornicating _in the bedroom." I purposefully use the word fornicating because it is unlikely he knows what it means. Stupid fuck.

Craig looks completely lost, but he still tries to make me feel like the loser. He scowls at me, one eyebrow raised. "Doing _what _in the bedroom?"

"You _know,_" I spit, losing patience fast. "I just wanted to let you know...Kyle told me to tell you that he regrets it and that he hopes you guys can still be friends."

"What the hell are you getting at, Cartman?" Craig snaps, his dark eyes narrowing as he takes a threatening step towards me. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

Hmm. Touchy. "What's going on with you and Kyle?" I demand, forgetting all the mind-games I had been intending to play.

Craig lets out a short bark of laughter. "Like that's your business."

"Well, you two made it public this afternoon," I inform him bitterly, my eyes hardening to ice. "So what's going on?"

"Why do you give a fuck?" Craig demands, his face twisted into an angry scowl. "I thought you hated Broflovski."

"So it's Broflovski, now?" I roar, taking a step towards him and removing my trembling hands from my pockets. "I want to know why Kyle would ever agree to becoming your bitch! You sick perv, why are you taking advantage of him?"

"Do you hear yourself?" Craig cries, stepping back from me. I swear I see a hint of fear in his eyes. "You're insane. You're obsessed. Let this alone before more people start to notice." He starts to go, but I snake my arm out and pin him back against the pantry doors, my arm pressed against his throat, not tight enough to choke, but tight enough to threaten. "What the fuck!?" Craig yelps as I close in on him.

I get all up in his face, making my face as menacing as I can manage. "_What is going on between you and Kyle?_" I demand once more, my breath hot on his face.

Craig looks up at me, and now there definitely is fear in his eyes. "Get off of me, you fat fuck."

I press my arm to his throat, cutting off his air. He gasps and his eyes bug out, his mouth gaping open and closed like a fish. I take mercy and remove some pressure. He gasps and spits, peppering my chin with spit. I lean in even closer. "I'm not going to ask you again, fucker. What. Is. Going. On. Between you. And Kyle?"

Craig's breathing is shallow and quick. His eyes dart this way and that. Finally, he speaks; his voice quivers. "I can't tell you."

I move to tighten my grip, but he quickly squeaks out and explanation. "Honestly! I promised him! It's not my story to tell! You're friends with him, right? Ask him! I can't betray his trust. I promised I wouldn't tell. He said he's not ready. I'm sorry, alright! Please let me go." His eyes are begging me to release him.

Finally, after a long, tense, intimidating moment, I oblige. He falls back against the cupboards, gasping and panting, wiping the beads of sweat off of his brow. He doubles over, hands on his knees. "Jesus, Eric," he pants, shaking his head, his black bangs swaying in front of his face. "You should audition for the monster in some horror movie."

Ah, see, he shouldn't have said anything. He should have just kept his fucking mouth shut and let me walk away, fuming. Instead, he had to insult me.

I turn back to him and pull back my fist. Just as I'm about to drive the blow, big, lanky hands clamp around my arm and yank me back. I stumble a few steps and then wheel to attack the intruder. I stop when I see it's only Kenny. He's smirking, but his eyes are hard. Angry. _What did I tell you? _They're asking me. I shrug. _Eh, what can I do?_

"Come on, Cartman." Kenny takes my arm and starts yanking me away. Craig's gaping up at us, the shock still registering on his face from the realization of the fact that I'd been about to punch his goddamn daylights out.

Kenny pulls me all the way out of the house and practically shoves me into the passenger seat of his car. He climbs into the driver's side, but doesn't turn on the ignition. We sit in silence for several minutes, saying nothing. Finally, Kenny says quietly, "Why don't you ever listen to me?"

"Because you're not my mom," I spit, not meeting his gaze. We're both staring straight ahead.

"Maybe not, but I've fucking got a brain," Kenny says harshly, his hands clutching the steering wheel. "Maybe you should look into getting one, too. Jesus, Cartman. I'm sick of babysitting you."

"Yeah? Well I'm sick of babysitting Kyle," I snap. It's childish of me, and know exactly what Kenny is going to say before he says it.

"Kyle doesn't _need _babysitting!" Kenny cries, finally wrenching the key in the ignition and backing the car out of the driveway. "Get it through your head! You just look like an idiot when you act like that. I mean, this is crazy. You're like obsessed with him, or something."

I wipe my suddenly sweaty palms on my jeans and gulp down some bile that has suddenly risen in my throat.

Am I obsessed?

I care about Kyle, sure.

Maybe I even love him. I don't know.

I want to look out for him, because...I think he needs it? Or I want him to need it? Need him to need it? Do I desperately need to feel like he needs me?

WHY?

This is all so fucked up! I don't understand anything anymore.

When I express these feelings to Kenny, his face and tone soften. "Jeez, Eric. I don't know, man. Maybe you just need some time to figure shit out. I don't know."

"I thought you knew everything," I say sarcastically, smiling sweetly at him.

Kenny glares at me, but then his face quickly breaks into a smile. "I do. I am all-knowing."

"But you don't know what I should do."

"I think you should get a life."

"What do you _know _I should do?"

Kenny sighs, rakes a hand through his hair. "Take a break. Back off from Kyle a bit. See what happens." He smiles and then adds jokingly, "And for God's sake, don't kill Craig!"


	7. Oh My God

**Kyle's Jeans**

_By AllzStar_

_Author's Note: Sorry this took so freaking long. I've had a busy week. But here it is! :-)_

_**Chapter Seven – Oh My God**_

Curse the day when I decided to apply for a job.

I put my foot up on the bench to tie my ugly white-and-red sneakers, my jersey uniform chaffing uncomfortably against my only slightly protruding belly.

Athlete's Corner is a large store in the middle of the South Park Mall, and it's like the Sport Check of Colorado. It's jam-packed full of sports equipment—from treadmills to running shoes to snowboards and bicycles—and that's what it smells like, too. New sports equipment. Rubber and plastic and other chemicals. Blegh. But it pays well, so who's complaining? I think four hours in this sport-smelling store is well worth the forty bucks a shift.

I growl in annoyance rather than pain when the pin on my nametag comes undone and sticks me in the nipple. Goddamnit.

"Pin giving you trouble again?" asks a familiar voice.

I look up at a grinning Token. He's already in his uniform and ready to go, nametag perfectly straight and functioning on his best pocket.

I grunt in response and fix the stupid pin before grabbing my duffel bag and shoving it into my locker.

"Ready to open?" Token asks, leaning casually against the locker next to mine. "There's like a line-up a mile long out there."

"Why can't Andy fucking open the doors?" I grumble as we leave the staff room. "It's his fucking business." Andy's our boss. He's a bit of a lazy-ass bastard.

Token shrugs. "Probably because nobody would want to come in if they saw him at the door."

I let out a loud guffaw as we make our way through the maze of stinky equipment. It's true. Andy Larkin is probably one of the scariest men I have ever seen. I'm not gonna even bother describing him. This isn't a horror story.

People stream into the store immediately after we open the doors. Kids, parents, dudes, hot chicks, you name it. Everyone's here. There's even a few old guys checking out golf clubs. But bless the day when I got assigned to the tennis section. That's where all the chicks go. Sure, I know jack shit about tennis, but...that's where all the girls...go...

I DON'T FUCKING LIKE GIRLS!

Well, okay. I like the one that just walked by. She's pretty hot.

But no matter how many pairs of boobs are shoved in my face, no matter how many lashes are batted at me, I still can't get Kyle fucking Broflovski out of my head! I think of other things, too, of course, like what Kenny told me last night in the car. I wonder if that's really the best approach. Normally I go whining to Kenny for advice, which always makes perfect sense, but I ignore it anyways and do whatever the hell I want. I'm learning now, though. There's a shocker. Maybe Kyle's just too much to risk losing by ignoring Kenny's advice.

But I can't just...not spend time with Kyle.

Fuck.

He's like a drug to me. An addiction. Obsession. Whatever awful word you want to call it.

Why is this happening to me? Why did karma just have to pop up and bite me in the ass? I _so _don't need this right now. The humiliation, not only for actually turning out gay, but for falling for the one individual I spent my whole childhood tormenting.

As I'm helping a fidgety little girl try on a pair of light-up pink sparkle sneakers, the large glass doors swing open and a group of guys stroll in. I look up simply out of habit—hey, the more customers, the more pay. I feel my face blanch when my eyes fall on the familiar head of blood red curls. I'd recognize those curls anywhere, even pressed under a baseball cap like they are now. My eyes travel down the slim shoulders, the elegant lines of the bare arms, to the dainty pale hands and the slender fingers that are currently intertwined with those of a creature who does nothing even close to justice to its heavenly partner.

Kyle—_my _Kyle—okay not _my Kyle _but you get the idea—is holding hands with Craig. Fucking. Tucker.

He _knows _that I work here. What an absolute _dick._

"Mommy!" the annoying little bitch whines.

I look back to my task. I just snapped the lace on her sneaker. Fuckshit. Now I've gotta pay for these goddamn sneakers.

I am actually going to kill Craig Tucker.

A hand comes down, tough and firm on my shoulder. I stiffen instantly, ready to turn and belt whoever dares to touch me at this point. It's only Token. He pulls me away from the annoyed customers and gets on one knee to assist them. He shoots a look over his shoulder at me, then nods his head towards the staff doors.

For once, I listen to him.

I duck inside the staffroom, clutching at my brown hair with tense fingers. I pace back and forth, breathing deeply, trying not to freak out.

I don't even feel that angry. Just...hurt. I feel _pain. _It's exploding in my chest, and it really, really hurts.

I splash some water on my face and look up into the mirror above the sink. Droplets of water run down my face; I blink them out of my eyes. The only thing I see in that mirror is a lovesick moron who will never, ever be able to truly move on from the initial heartbreak. Hey, the first cut is the deepest, right? And why the hell am I so damn poetic all of a sudden?

...And am I really in love?

*

I decide to cut my shift two hours early and get the hell out of there. Kyle and Craig just weren't leaving, and it wouldn't be long before one of them happened to need my assistance. And I couldn't face both of them. Together.

It's not just that Kyle betrayed me. It's that he did it with _Craig. _The idiot who practically raped him last weekend. Who _does _that? Who dates someone who wanted to rape them? Kenny's words, annoyingly, run through my mind. _Maybe they're in one of those creepy relationships __where they come up with violent and strange ways of hooking up. _Ugh...it just gives me the creeps thinking about it.

No. No fucking way. Kyle Broflovski would never subject himself to that. His religious and moral values would totally rule out any kind of sex games Craig might want to play.

But then again, Kyle _is _gay, which turns right against his religion anyway. I wonder what his parents think of his sexuality.

_So _not the point.

Anyway, all I can do is hope and pray to _God _that there's a logical, non-sex-related explanation to all of this. I also need to hope that Kyle didn't agree to go out with Craig just because Craig _apologized. _Kyle's got a soft spot for apologies. He forgave me several times in childhood for doing ridiculous, sometimes even inhumane, things to him, just because I got all soft and said sorry. That can't fly. Because what Craig had been about to do is unforgiveable. I will not accept that. No fucking way.

I'm so lost in my thoughts that I don't realize I've been sitting in my car for several minutes scowling at the dashboard. A soft tap on the driver's side window startles me from my stupor. I feel my face go pale for the second time today when my eyes meet a pair of large, innocent baby greens.

Damn it. I'm trapped.

"Cartman? Hey, Cartman! I've been calling you for the past two minutes!"

No way out.

"Uh, yeah, sorry, Kyle. Bad timing, though, man. I've got some errands to run, so...I'll catch ya later."

"_Cartman_." His fingers close around the top of the glass window. I quickly stop rolling it up before his fingers get cut off. "Come on, Cartman. I just wanna talk."

"There's nothing to talk about," I say through my teeth, glaring at him through the half-closed window. "Step away from my car or I'll run your little Jew ass into the ground."

"Cartman, I need to talk to you about something. It's important!"

"What's important is that I've got to get going before my boss notices that I left early. Let go of the window, Kyle!"

"Eric—"

"Don't fucking call me Eric!" I snap, reaching over to pry his fingers off the window. He doesn't resist, he just stares at me, confusion in his bright green eyes.

"I'm sorry, Cartman," he says quietly. He drops his hands by his sides and turns away, strolling towards Craig, who has been obnoxiously honking his horn this whole time.

I don't know what he's sorry for: breaking my heart or leaving fingerprints on my windows?


	8. In My Dreams, I Have A Plan

**Kyle's Jeans**

_By AllzStar_

_Author's Note: I recently watched a children's theatre performance of Mamma Mia! three nights in a row (I was the stage manager). This explains the random chapter title. Enjoy! ^^_

**_Chapter Eight – In My Dreams, I Have A Plan_**

Apparently Kyle was sorry for breaking my heart, because I got a lovely welcome from Craig the next morning at school. Needless to say, it involved a bloody nose on my part and suspension on his. That asshole decided it would be a great idea to punch me in the fucking nose right outside the vice principal's office. What a tool.

Kyle caught up to me later and explained that he'd broken things off with Craig last night, and Craig had flipped out and come after me. Why Craig would think that it was my fault, I have no idea. I didn't practically rape Kyle last weekend.

Anyway, I am currently lying on my bed with my hands clasped behind my head, staring at the ceiling with what I just know is a goofy, shit-eating grin on my face. My socked feet are bouncing rhythmically, issuing several squeaking noises from my ancient mattress. My eyes land on my belly, a small mountain underneath my rugby jersey. If only I didn't have to work really hard to get rid of that. If I weren't such a fat pig, maybe Kyle would finally notice me as something besides just that.

I groan and flip over onto my embarrassing stomach, stuffing my face into my pillow. When I feel ready to suffocate, I pull myself up off of my bed and stand in front of my mirror. I see a stocky guy of average height with tufts of normal brown hair and uninterested muddy brown eyes. He's wearing a green and white rugby jersey with a freaking dancing cow on it, black sport shorts and mismatched white and grey socks. He maybe needs to shave; there's colorless stubble peppering his jaw. Maybe he needs to start using face wash more often and clear up some of the acne building up near his ears and hairline. And maybe he needs to get a little more exercise than knocking other dudes around a muddy field over a rugby ball. Maybe he needs to lose some weight.

I grab my hoodie and sneakers and head downstairs. All those maybes need to start now.

*

"What are you doing?"

"Working out. What does it look like?"

"Since when does Eric Cartman work out?" Kenny sneers at me from his spot across my basement, straddling my Mom's desk chair. He just came in uninvited, as usual. I'm beginning to think the kid might as well just live here.

I glance at him, pausing before lowering myself down into my thirty-third push-up. "Since he realized that he's a fat piece of shit."

Kenny whistles. "Wow. It took you seventeen years to realize that?"

I fall back onto my knees and glare daggers at him. "Fuck off, Kenny. You're not helpful and you're a shitty friend. Get the hell out if you're not gonna help me."

Kenny holds his hands out in front of him in surrender. "Whoa, man. Chill. I'm just messing with you. I'll help you out if you're really serious about this." He stands up and flexes his pathetic excuses for biceps. "After all," he breathes, grinning like a Cheshire cat, "I am a working class jock."

"With that skinny ass? I doubt it." I'm smiling, but I know he can hear the challenge in my voice.

He gestures for me to get up, and I do. Then he gives me a pathetic little shove, trying his hardest to look intimidating while I stand a good three and a half inches taller than him. "C'mon, Cartman," Kenny hisses, backing up a few steps with his arms wide. "Let's see if you can catch South Park's most cherished runner."

Son of a bitch.

Anyone who's anyone around here will know that Kenny is the fastest runner in all of Park County. His slim frame allow him to squeeze into tight spots that someone like me would never dream of getting into. He's been working on his free-running skills since grade seven, five years ago, and it's paid off. If there's one thing Kenny McCormick is good at, it's running.

I'm about to protest, but he's already in the upstairs hallway, heading for the front door. I sigh and take off after him.

*

Two hours later my rugby jersey is soaked completely through with sweat and I'm about ready to puke from exertion. Kenny, being the annoying prick that he is, is bouncing on the balls of his feat, warring to go back at it. But there is no way I am moving another inch for another hour or so. I let my weight sink into the ground as I lie back in the grass, squinting up at the sky and trying desperately to catch my breath. My breathing rattles in an ugly way as it passes through my mouth; my chest heaves up and down like a ship in a storm.

Finally Kenny sits next to me cross-legged, tearing at the innocent grass in front of him and tossing the blades at my sweating red face. "Hey, hey, Cartman," he coos, his biggest shit-eating grin plastered on his face. "You ran like twelve K today. Congrats, man. That should cost you at least five pounds as long as you don't eat any shit when you go inside. I would suggest a fruit smoothie with protein powder."

And, thus, Kenny McCormick becomes my personal trainer.

I groan and cover my face with my hands, shielding my eyes from the glaring sun. "Kyle broke up with Craig," I say bluntly.

Kenny makes a small "hmm" noise in acknowledgement. "Why?"

"I have no idea, but Craig blamed it on me for some reason. He punched me in the face this morning at school."

"For some reason," Kenny mutters, snorting a laugh. "Why do you think Tucker blamed you, dumbass? 'Cause Kyle dumped him for you!"

"Ha, ha," I say dryly. "Don't joke, man."

"I'm not joking! I've seen the way Kyle looks at you. He, like, worships you."

"He worships Stan," I spit, removing my hands from my face and glaring at him. "He loves Stan fucking Marsh, and nothing I do will change that."

"See, that's where you're wrong," Kenny says, shaking his index finger at me. "Kyle doesn't give two shits about Stan fucking Marsh anymore. He told me."

"He told you?" I ask, my heart sinking. "What do you mean? You _talked _to him?"

"Well, yeah," Kenny says, shrugging. "You and Stan may have flown the coop, but me and Kyle are still bros. We talk about shit now and then. And he told me that he never wants anything to do with Stan fucking Marsh ever again."

"Why? Two days ago he was trailing after him like a heartbroken puppy or something."

"You know Kyle. He's always gotta work things out. Always gotta be friends with everybody. It was hard for him to let Stan go. To realize that they really aren't friends anymore. Stuff like that happens, you know? Groups break up. Stan went his own way. It was bound to happen eventually." Kenny runs a hand through his blond spikes thoughtfully. "Kyle finally just...let Stan go. And it hurt him, sure. But I think that made him realize what shit he'd gotten himself into with Craig. And at the same time he realized who had always been there for him, whether or not he was in friendly company." Kenny looks at me pointedly. "Anyway. That's your Kyle-analysis one-oh-one. Now's the time to talk to him about all this."

"All this what? Nothing happened!"

"You think Kyle doesn't know about your little showdown with Craig at Token's house? Face it, Cartman. You want to be a significant part of this guy's life, you need to talk to him. Communication is key. I know it's hard man, but it's true. Why do you think none of my relationships work out?" Kenny's smiling, but I can see a glint of regret in his eyes. For the first time, I feel like there's more to Kenny that meets the eye. Like an onion, the more layers you dig through, the more stuff you're gonna see. And I bet most of the stuff that's buried deep within him is enough to make you cry more than a freaking onion could.

It's a deep moment, and it passes.

"Cuz you've got commitment issues?" I guess lightly, offering him a weak smile.

He laughs dryly. "That, and I suck at talking about feelings. You think I go around pretending to be a dick because I really am one?"

My face falls as I look at my friend, truly look at him.

And for the first time I realize that Kenny McCormick is not just your average perverted seventeen-year-old douche. He's actually a real sensitive guy beneath the whole dick facade. I guess the cover-up comes with growing up in the hood. He needs to be tough. Hard. Because that's the only way kids like him survive. But now I really can see Kenny sitting on some park bench somewhere and writing poems in a little leather-bound notebook.

I think all that running has left me fucked in the head.

"No, Kenny," I say softly, sympathetically. "I don't think you're a dick. You're a...really good friend, man. I don't think I'd be alive right now without you."

Talking about feelings is a bitch, by the way. Especially when you're a potentially gay guy talking to a straight-as-a-flagpole dude.

But I'm starting to think that maybe Kenny's not as straight as he makes out to be, either, because his fingers are currently curling around mine, lying dead in the grass. His fingers link loosely with mine, and I feel a sort of ugly shiver race up my spine and buzz at the base of my neck. It's not a pleasant feeling.

"See, was that so hard?" Kenny whispers, smiling softly down at me.

"Hard as you're dick," I sneer sarcastically, gesturing meaningfully at our linked hands. "Fag."

But Kenny's face falls and I swear his fucking baby blues fill with tears so fast I might as well have turned on a tap. "Kenny..."

"Fuck you, Cartman."

And he's gone.

* * *

**Yay! The story is actually going somewhere now! We've discovered a little tidbit about Kenny...an unexpected twist even to me! I hadn't even thought about that until I wrote it. Funny how brilliant ideas come to you while writing.**

**Anyway, sorry this chapter took so long. I finally sort of fixed my computer. But unfortunately I am going on vacation next week and won't be able to update and further until the week after. Sorry! I'll be writing chapters in my notebook on the plane, believe me. **

**Thank you all; please review it really makes my day! Happy writings!**

**AllzStar**


	9. You're So Hot

**Kyle's Jeans**

_By AllzStar_

_Author's Note: I'm back! I went to NYC for a vacation. It was WICKED. Literally. ;) Enjoy the chapter! It's really short, sorry._

_**Chapter Nine – You're So Hot**_

I twist the cap off my Coke bottle with my teeth and spit it out, sending it flying across the lawn and into the grass somewhere. Condensation runs over my fingers as I take the first swig of ice cold Cola, relishing in the delicious carbonated taste that I have missed so much in the past two months. Two months of working my ass off to lose ten pounds. Goal attained, I celebrate with a bottle of Coke. Not the best reward considering I'll probably gain a pound back afterwards, but I could really care less. I deserve it, goddamn it. I've worked hard. And I never work hard.

My lips part from the glass opening in a pleased "aah" sound, the steam from the bubbles evaporating quickly in the moist, warm air.

Summer, man. Gotta love it. Especially when it follows the last year of high school.

I'm free. I am a graduated man. No more lockers and textbooks for me. I am officially _libre. _And I feel spectacular.

Clyde's smirking at me across the picnic table, his fingers wrapped around a gigantic burger piled high with every topping you can imagine. "I bet that feels good," he says sarcastically, trying to get his mouth around the burger for the first bite.

"Orgasmic," I agree wistfully, savouring the familiar taste of Coca-Cola.

Kenny, barely grinning, flicks his own bottle cap at me. It hits me in the cheek. It doesn't hurt, but I still give him a look. He looks away and gets up, knocking the table with his knee as he goes and causing me to spill some of my Coke on my shirt. He doesn't look back to apologize as he lopes away towards the volleyball court, where a bunch of girls in bikinis are half-heartedly tossing a ball around while trying to look sexy with wet sand caked across their legs.

"Bastard," I mutter, stripping off my ruined t-shirt. Then I grin: I can take my shirt off and not worry about looking like a beached whale.

Clyde looks at me sympathetically. "He'll get over it sometime, you know."

I look at him pointedly. "It's been two months."

Clyde shrugs and digs into his burger.

June brought a lot of problems for Kenny and me. Since that incident two months ago when he pretty much came out to me, things haven't been the same between us. He still hangs out with me, sure, but now we're halfway through July and there's still this underlying tension and tooth-and-nail effort on my part to get him to lighten the fuck up. The Kenny McCormick I know is whimsical and doesn't linger on things longer than five seconds. He's never even heard of a grudge. This Kenny...well, I don't know who he is. And it scares me something awful, because I need the old Kenny to keep me sane.

Anyway, so here I am at Stark's Pond Park, where the sun is shining and the grass is actually green and the volleyball courts are open and loaded with sand dragged all the way from Oklahoma, and I feel miserable because my best friend is being a dick. Stark's Pond is even open for swimming, and there are hot, scantily clad girls everywhere dripping with water, but I'm still not happy. My entire class is here for a post-grad barbeque, and I should be socializing and savouring sweet freedom. But I'm not. I'm sitting at a picnic table with Clyde fucking Donovan, who knows absolutely nothing, feeling like crap.

I'm not gonna let Kenny get to me this way. If he wants to be a limp penis, that's fine. But I am going to have fun.

Someone turns on a stereo, and some noxious pop song starts blasting throughout the entire park. Immediately, kids everywhere start dancing. Now, I'm not gonna dance, but I am going to point and laugh at the people who are.

I make my way over to the refreshment picnic table, where the barbeque is steaming and the food and drinks are being served. A bunch of guys are clustered there, and I'm about to go join them when I realize it's Stan Marsh and his posse of football boners. He sees me before I can escape, and waves me over. The entire team turns to look at me.

Damn it.

I make my way over to Stan, even though I really, really don't want to. The only reason I do is because of the head of curly red hair that's standing next to him...

Kyle waves crazily as I saunter over, his freckled face breaking into the widest grin ever. He's practically jumping for joy. He bursts forth out of the cluster of football players and runs over to me. "Cartman!" he cries. There's something wrong with his eyes. They're all shiny. "I haven't seen you in ages! Isn't this great? We're graduated, man! We're done! Not more high school!"

"Yeah, I know," I say, smiling down at him in spite of myself. That kid can make me smile no matter what. "But you just saw me, like, two days ago. At the football game."

"Two days, an eternity, what's the difference?" Kyle asks, his eyes shining. He slings an arm around my broad shoulders, a little awkwardly since I'm about five inches taller, and steers me towards the volleyball court, where kids are trying to play and dance at the same time. "Wanna play some ball?"

"I suck at volleyball," I say, grimacing. My skin tingles where he's touching me. "I'm more of a rugby guy."

"Everyone here sucks at volleyball," Kyle points out, gesturing to Bebe Stevens as she attempts to serve the ball my drop-kicking it. "Come on, let's join in."

I can't refuse him, so I allow him to pull me onto the court.

I'll let you imagine how that game went.

A couple of hours later, as the sun is just beginning to set behind the massive Colorado mountains, Token Black rallies everyone together for the bonfire. Chairs are set up in a circle all around the mound of firewood and tinder, and everyone takes their seats. There are about fifty kids in our class, and only about thirty-eight of them showed up for the party, so we comfortably fit around the fire. Kids were sitting on the sand or just standing around with their Cokes if they didn't have a chair.

Kyle took a seat next to me, his red curls plastered to his forehead and neck and around his cheekbones after taking a dip in the pond. He grins at me before joining in the cheering as a couple of guys bend to light the fire.

I study him, wondering how, even after all the weird shit that's been happening, he's still willing to be my friend.

Whatever. I'm just fucking lucky to have him.


	10. Teasing Me

**Kyle's Jeans**

_By AllzStar_

_Author's Note: I actually wrote this in one sitting! It's a miracle! It took me two hours, which is really kind of pathetic. Anyway, this is part two of the previous chapter. I really rushed the ending there, and it sucked ass. So here's the rest of it. Enjoy! ^^_

_**Chapter Ten – Teasing Me**_

The crowd of recent grads cheer as the bonfire roars to life, the flames reaching for the twilight sky like fingers. Speaking of fingers, I catch Craig flipping me off from his seat across the fire pit several times. I return the gesture affectionately, giving him my best smug smirk.

Kyle is a sight to behold. I've never seen him like this. He's like a little ball of burning energy. A star. His green eyes are so bright and vibrant, dancing in the fire light as he chatters on and on about his plans for the summer and where he wants to go to university. His red curls dry progressively, sticking out every which way in the humid air. His pale skin has taken on a healthy pink glow. He's positively luminous.

"I'm thinking of taking Ike on a boating trip," he tells me as he holds a marshmallow on a stick over the flames. "Our uncle just bought a huge yacht and said we were welcome to take it out sometime this summer. He lives in California, though, so we'd have to drive there first." He stops and looks up at me with wide eyes. "You should come with us!"

I'm taken aback at the blunt invitation, and immediately a tingly sensation starts in my cheeks. "Oh—me?"

"It'll be so awesome! And Kenny can come, too, if you want. And maybe..." His eyes flicker to where Stan is seated, and my heart sinks. His face falls a little, and I want to punch Stan in the face for killing Kyle's buzz.

"Forget about Stan," I say, waving him off. "It'll just be the four of us. You and me and Ike and Kenny. That is, if Kenny wants to go." I can't keep the doubt out of my voice. Something tells me Kenny would be less than willing to be stuck on a tiny boat with me for a long period of time.

Kyle sighs and offers me a cheery smile. "Yeah. The four of us."

One look into his eyes and I know he's thinking the same thing I am: "the four of us" used to mean him, Stan, Kenny and I. He misses those days, and for the first time, I do, too.

"That sounds awesome. I can't wait."

"You'll have to drive," he says, blushing slightly. "I haven't gone in for my N yet."

"No problem," I say, rubbing my hands together. This is just what I need. A road trip with my closest friends. Not to mention the idea of a few weeks on a boat with Kyle sounded indeed wonderful.

"It's a date!" Kyle chimes, raising his marshmallow stick above his hand in triumph.

I can feel the blush creeping up my cheeks at his choice of words, but luckily there's something to distract him from noticing. "Kyle, watch out!"

Too late. Sticky, melted marshmallow has already glooped down from the end of the stick and settled in his curls. He gasps in surprise, his mouth forming a perfect O. Then he yelps in pain and reaches up to pry it away from his scalp, yelling, "It's hot! It burns!"

I quickly reach out to help him, but he swats my hands away, too distressed to realize that I'm trying to help him.

People look up to see what the commotion is all about. Most of them laugh, but some kind person hands me a bottle of water, which I proceed to uncap and dump all over his head. He yelps again as the icy water runs through his hair and down his neck, dribbling down the back of his t-shirt.

I can't help but chuckle as he squirms, trying to get his skin out of contact with his wet shirt. I notice the smile that he's trying to conceal at the spectacle he's making.

It takes a few minutes for him to settle down, but when he does he's smiling even wider than he was before. "Well, how stupid was that?" he asks me, giggling slightly as he pulls the remains of the marshmallow out of his hair. "My hair's gonna be all sticky for days!"

I have to laugh at this. His expression is priceless: his tongue sticks out as he pries the sticky mess from his curls, his brow furrowed in concentration.

He eventually gives up, shrugging and declaring, "I'll just shampoo twice when I get home." I then proceed to picture him in the shower and have to physically hit myself in the head to get myself to stop.

"Hey...where is Kenny, anyway?" Kyle asks a little while later, when everyone is on their sixth sh'more and the party is slowly starting to die. "I haven't seen him since the party started."

"Maybe he left," I say nonchalantly, finishing off my Coke and tossing the bottle into the sand at my feet.

"It's not like Kenny to leave a party early," Kyle says quietly, a cute little crease appearing in between his eyebrows.

I resist the urge to smooth the crease out with my thumb and say, "Kenny hasn't really been himself lately."

Kyle makes a little "hmm" noise in acknowledgement, but doesn't ask what I mean. Weird, since I expected him to shower me with questions. It's almost as if he already knows the story.

Suddenly Kyle jumps up, declaring to nobody in particular, "I need to pee." He leaves the circle around the bonfire and goes to find a tree to piss behind.

Almost as soon as he leaves Stan plunks down in Kyle's vacated seat, still nursing a can of beer he must have smuggled in. "Hey, Cartman."

"What do you want?" I ask rudely, glancing at him warily.

Stan gives me a "for real?" look and says, "Nice to see you, too."

"I never said it was nice to see you, Marsh. What do you want?"

Stan sighs. "You never change, do you, Cartman?"

"Nope."

"Well, I was actually wondering what you're doing this weekend."

I frown and glance at him, allowing him to see the confusion on my face. "Huh?"

"Well, a bunch of us are going to Denver for the Superbowl, and I was wondering if you wanted to come. Since you're a rugby guy and all."

"First of all, I'm not a rugby guy, and second, why would I want to go anywhere with you?"

"Okay, look." Stan pushes his overgrown bangs out of his face impatiently. "I just think...we should start hanging out again."

"_What_?" Now I'm just looking at him as if he's the most insane person on the planet.

"I miss the good old days, as cheesy as that sounds," Stan admits, running a hand through his jet hair. "I want to go back to when it was just...you know, the four of us."

"Well, I don't think it can," I say slowly, choosing my words carefully. "You pissed off, and now Kenny's drifting off, too. You can't just apologize and expect everything to be fine. You ditched us. Saying 'I miss the good old days' isn't going to change that."

"I'm not trying to take back what I did," Stan says exasperatedly. "I just miss hanging out with you guys. All the guys on the football team are such doorknobs. I had way more fun hanging out with you guys."

"When we were twelve," I shoot back. "People change."

"Even you?" Stan asks, raising an eyebrow.

I think about it, and then shake my head. "No. Not me."

"Yes, you have. You've changed. Six years ago, if I'd asked if we could hang out again, you would have reamed me out immediately and called me a bunch of derogatory names. Now, here we are, having a civilized conversation."

"I grew up, Stan, I didn't change."

"If you say so." Stan says nothing for a bit, then, "You used to hate Kyle."

"I still do."

Stan looks at me pointedly, and I know there's no way I can lie about that anymore. "Okay, I don't hate Kyle. He's a good kid."

"You never did hate him, did you?"

"Oh, there were times when I did," I say, reminiscing momentarily. "Most of the time he was just...there. And I ripped on him day and night because he was the only one who wouldn't take it. The only one who'd fight back. He was a challenge for me, even then. Now...well, it's completely different now."

"Because you care about him?"

"I don't _care_ about him," I spit too quickly, Stan cocks an eyebrow, but I ignore him. "He's my friend, that's all."

"You do care about him," Stan says, grabbing a handful of sand and watching it run through his fingers. "Maybe not like a super best friend, per se, but you do care about him. Enough to punch anyone who tries to hurt him." He rubs his jaw, as if remembering the last time it met my fist.

"What are you getting at, Marsh?" I ask, getting annoyed. I start to wonder where Kyle is. How long does it take for a dude to piss?

"Just musing," he says absently, his eyes wandering. He's lost interest in the conversation. Good. Maybe now he'll piss off. "And about the whole 'good old days' thing...just let me know if you guys are interested."

"I'll let Kyle know," I sneer, looking into the flames.

Stan glances at me pointedly. "_All _of you."

"Oh, stop beating around the bush, Marsh," I snap, tossing a twig into the fire. "I know you're just using me to get at Kyle. And I'm telling you, it's not going to work. You ruined whatever friendship you and Kyle had six years ago and nothing's going to change just because you're waving your magic wand and using your manners. So piss the fuck off."

Stan stands, his hands balling into fists. Then he relaxes and smiles down at me smugly. "Getting defensive, Care Bear?"

"Fuck off," I spit warningly, glaring at him.

"Whatever, lover boy," Stan sneers as he turns away.

I'm still fuming when Kyle finally returns from his pee break. "I had to walk all the way down the beach to find a dead tree," he says, grabbing a marshmallow and shoving it into his mouth raw. "Can you believe it? I mean it's a good thing that there aren't any dead trees around, but come on. That was ridiculous."

"You know, there are plenty of live trees around that you can piss on," I point out, gesturing to the thin circle of trees surrounding us.

Kyle looks at me as if I've grown three heads. "How would you like it if someone peed on you?"

I laugh dryly, although I can't help but feel like someone's already defecated on me.


	11. We're Free, Motherfuckers

**Kyle's Jeans**

_By AllzStar_

_Author's Note: CELEBRATING 100 REVIEWS! Yay! This story now has the most reviews of any story I've ever written on here! Thanks so much for all your amazing support, even of those who don't frequently review. It really helps me continue, because normally it takes me forever to finish a story (if ever), so thank you thank you THANK YOU!! Also, I've started a new story (YES, yet another one. I'm only working on this one and the new one now). It's a STYLE one (YAY)! There's only the prologue so far, but if you're bored, feel free to check it out. It's on my profile, it's called Trial and Error. Kyle loses his memory and Stan has to deal with being a stranger. Drama! :) Enjoy this chapter guys!_

_**Chapter Eleven – We're Free, Motherfuckers**_

"Land, ho!" Kenny cries, pointing in a completely random direction.

I glance up at him, wiping sweat off my brow as I attempt to untie the knots that are holding the yacht to the dock. "We haven't even taken off yet, Ken."

"No, I mean, land HO!" he yells, pointing dramatically.

I look to where he's pointing and let out a bark of laughter. Farther down the dock is a huge, million-dollar yacht, and attempting to board it without falling flat on her face is the most high maintenance woman I have ever seen. She looks like she just walked out of some Paris Hilton spoof. Seriously.

"What are you guys laughing at?" Kyle pokes his head out of the cabin curiously. His eyes fall on the woman and he barely bites back laughter. "Guys, it's rude to—point and—laugh!" But he's already clutching his stomach with mirth.

I'm smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. This trip is gonna be the highlight of my life. I can feel it.

Not only am I wearing flip-flops, sunglasses, and a baseball cap—when normally, in South Park, I would never dream of such a luxury—I am ready to embark on a twelve-day boat trip with my two best friends (Ike ended up not being able to come because he broke his foot last week).

I'm so glad that Kenny agreed to come along. Ever since I invited him, he's been back to his old self. Now that I've gone without the Kenny I know and love for a couple of months, I realize how much I missed him. Although Kenny will disembark the yacht earlier than Kyle and I to join his family in Anaheim, I'm glad to have him along, if only for a few days.

Kyle is a sight to behold. He's that buzzing ball of fire again, puttering around the yacht like a professional sailor, his pale skin slick with sun-tan lotion and his curls piled underneath his South Park Cows baseball cap, which he has on backwards. He gestures for Kenny to climb aboard, which he does—rather, he _jumps _on, causing the boat to rock dangerously. Kyle loses his balance and falls sideways into the sail, which we have yet to hoist. He curses as he tries to get back up without getting the sail wet and/or muddy.

"God damn it, Kenny," he moans, finally standing and brushing himself off. "Do you have to be so careless all the time?"

Kenny shrugs, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. He drops down into the cabin and disappears. Kyle looks at me and shakes his head, barely hiding his own smile. "Good thing he's not staying too long," he says with a roll of his eyes. "Or else he might get bored and try to purposefully capsize us, or something."

"I heard that," Kenny chides from the bowels of the yacht.

I exchange a grin with Kyle before tossing him the docking rope. "Let's get outta here," I saw, stepping onto the main deck.

"I need help with the sail," Kyle says as he tugs on the rope. "It always gets stuck at the top."

I move behind him and cover his small hands with my big ones, circling him with my arms as I do so. My face heats up when I realize what I'm doing. Kyle doesn't comment, but I know he's probably redder than I am. I wrap my fingers around his and we both pull on the rope, hoisting it up the rest of the way. I try really hard not to notice the fact that his back is pressing into my chest and his pale, creamy neck is inches from my lips and his fingers feel cool and smooth under mine. I stop myself before I can bury my nose in his curls that are slightly damp at the base of his neck due to sweat. I'm going to be spending over a week alone with him on a tiny yacht. I'm going to have to learn to restrain myself.

The sail hoisted, I move quickly away from Kyle, pulling the rim of my ball cap low over my face to hide my red cheeks.

Kyle stands there quietly for a moment before snapping into the action, moving to start the motor. He begins to pull the yacht out of the harbour. I watch him, surprised at how experienced he is with all of this. It's not like there's any sailboats in South Park. But I guess all those summer vacations to visit his uncle out here in California really paid off, because he really seems to be in his element here.

The smell of the sea is pungent at first, but I soon get used to the briny fish stink. As the boat picks up speed and the sail gulfs with wind, a sense of peace settles over me. I feel ready for anything that's out there for us to discover within the next two weeks.

That being said, I'm scared shitless of that week and a half that I have to spend alone with Kyle.

In the tiny cabin bedroom.

Just the two of us.

The bed was made for two people, but since Kenny and Kyle are all so skinny we can all squeeze onto it. But once Kenny's gone, then what? I just really hope Kyle's the kind of sleeper that curls up in a corner and doesn't move.

I guess I can always jump into the ocean if I get too hot, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, so we're sailing away. Kenny's already raiding the mini-fridge that we stocked chock-a-block full of beer (that Kenny's older brother Kevin got for us), pop, fruit, chips and salsa, and other food that offers to real nutrients or attributes to our health. Kyle groans when he emerges onto the deck with three beers.

"To freedom!" Kenny whoops as he expertly twists the caps off of all three at the same time.

"Kenny, we haven't even been sailing then minutes. Can't we wait to break out the booze?" Kyle asks, reluctantly accepting the beer anyway.

"Why wait?" Kenny asks, taking a seat next to me on the cushioned bench on deck and kicking his feet into my lap. "We're free, motherfuckers! No more high school and any of its bullshit!"

I raise my bottle to clink it with his and take a long swig. "Amen."

"To freedom," Kyle agrees, knocking his bottle against mine and taking a long swig. He coughs and splutters, spitting half the mouthful out onto the deck.

Kenny rolls around on the bench, laughing. "The kid's never had beer before!"

"The fuck?" I ask, looking at Kyle disbelievingly. "Really?"

"Think of who my parents are, Cartman," Kyle says, rolling his pretty green eyes.

I laugh. "Ha. Good point."

He takes another swig and manages to swallow it. "You guys are a bad influence on me."

"Let the corruption begin!" Kenny hollers, chugging half his beer and belching loudly.

So it's like this. The three of us drinking and laughing and having a fucking blast.

For the first time in a long time, I feel truly happy.

* * *

_Author's Note: Probably one of my favourite chapters so far, no? _


	12. Holden Caulfield Ain't Got Nothing On Me

**Kyle's Jeans**

_By AllzStar_

_Author's Note: Wow! Wow! Wow! I'm so stoked out of my mind for the next few chapters! Thanks for all the awesome reviews guys! You made my week!_

_**Chapter Twelve – Holden Caulfield Ain't Got Nothing On Me**_

As I slowly transition between Dreamland and consciousness, I become more and more aware of my surroundings. I have that awful feeling of "WHERE THE FUCK AM I?!?" before remembering where I am and why I'm here. I yawn to rid my throat of that disgusting cottony sensation and stretch my arms above my head. I sigh as I release the stretch. Something squirms next to me and presses into my side.

I blink my eyes, crusty with sleep, and look down. A small, red haired being is curled into my side, his fists by his nose, his pink eyelids closed in a peaceful slumber. His side rises and falls with each steady breath.

On my other side lies Kenny, sprawled out starfish-style, his arm thrown across my chest as he sleeps soundly. His fine blond hair sticks straight out on the side closest to me, and his t-shirt is twisted up around his abdomen. His large feet stick out over the edge of the mattress.

I almost giggle at how silly this scene must look.

Then I choke on my laughter when I realize that _Kyle is a cuddle sleeper._

I decide not to worry about it yet and enjoy the un-awkwardness of the three of us being stuffed into this tiny space together. I carefully pull away from Kyle, who groans and rolls over, curling up on his other side.

I make my way out of the cabin and into the warm Californian air. My watch reads eight thirty, which is way earlier than I've ever woken up on vacation. Oh, well. I guess I'm still adjusting to the time zone.

I stretch out on the bench on the main deck and watch the sun rise higher into the sky, the ocean water sparkling in its wake. I can only just see the coastline behind us, but ahead is nothing but open sea. The horizon is light blue, still touched with a little pink from the sunrise, and stretches on and on, forever, it seems. There's a whole other world out here that I've never even thought about. The thought kind of terrifies me.

I head back into the cabin and fish a book out of Kyle's duffel bag, smiling when I confirm my guess that he brought a book with him. It's a paperback copy of _The Catcher In The Rye _by J.D. Salinger. I remember studying that in grade eleven, but I never actually read the book.

I went back out onto the deck with a glass of orange juice and sat back on the couch again, opening the book where Kyle's bookmark was: about half-way through. The bookmark flutters out of the pages and skitters across the deck; I jump up to collect it before it can be lost at sea.

I turn the pencil-length piece of paper over. It's covered in Kyle's neat printing:

_I'm not quite sure how to tell you this, but I'm just gonna come out and say it...well, that's just it. I'm coming out. I'm gay. There, I said it. And, well, I'm kind of hoping maybe you are too, which I know is ridiculous because you're obviously not, I mean you're a sadistic Christian bastard and you've made fun of gays your whole life. But I felt like I needed to tell you. And now I have. Beat me up if you want, but it's not going to change who I am. Or how I feel about you._

I stand there for about five minutes, reading the message on the bookmark over and over and over again. I think I read it about a million times before I actually can process what this means.

I finally force my feet to move. I walk to the side of the yacht and hold the bookmark out to the wind. The breeze catches it and the bookmark sails away on a current of air, finally coming to land on a wave and disappearing into the clear water forever.

*

Three hours later the other two have hauled their asses out of bed and have joined me on the deck. I apologize to Kyle for "losing" his bookmark. His face betrays his emotions for half a second before he covers it with a smile and says that he can always just rip a piece of paper out of his notebook to use. But I saw the wild fear in his eyes. I just wish I had the goddamn nerve to tell him that the feeling is mutual.

While I was sitting on the couch for two hours by myself, the book sitting unopened in my lap, I considered just ditching Kyle and getting off the boat with Kenny. My inner voice ended up persuading me to tough it out, because not only would my disembarking upset Kyle, but it would also probably end his trip, too. And a five-day boating trip is just stupid.

I decide to tough it out.

Anyway, we relax the morning away, talking about plans for the future and trips we want to take and cars we want to buy. The mutual goal for all three of us is to get the hell out of South Park.

Kenny, being Kenny, starts drinking at noon and doesn't stop till seven in the evening, when I finally drag him to bed with a bucket for him to puke in whenever the boat lurches. I can tell that Kyle is less than pleased with his guest's behaviour, but he doesn't say a word until we're sure Kenny has passed out.

"I know bringing alcohol was a bad idea," Kyle says glumly as we settle down at the mini-kitchen table. It's twilight outside and we're only just finishing a supper of hot dogs on mushy buns.

"It wasn't yours," I point out. "Anyway, Kenny will be off in a few days and you won't have to worry anymore."

"Don't be apologetic," Kyle snaps, looking at me knowingly. "It's not your fault that he's acting like this."

"Well, yeah, it kind of it," I say, raking a hand through my sea-salt-caked hair.

Kyle sighs and goes about clearing dishes. I stop him by placing my hand on top of his. "I'll clean up," I tell him. "You light the lantern and we'll play cribbage."

Kyle smiles a cute little smile that has me grinning like an idiot. He goes into the cabin to get matches. I gather the dishes and dump them in the tiny sink, where I half-heartedly scrub them and then leave them on the rack to dry. Kyle returns with matches and sets about lighting the gas lamp that hangs above the table.

"Thought Kenny was gonna attack me when I went in there," Kyle says as he attempts to strike the match. "He gave me the death glare before passing out again."

The match spits to life, the tiny flame illuminating Kyle's small, freckled face in a warm, reddish glow. He smiles at me, biting his lip, and reaches up to dip the match into the body of the lantern. His t-shirt rides up as he stretches, revealing his creamy stomach to me. I look away quickly. As the light erupts inside the lantern, so does a warm, tingling sensation in my lower abdomen.

_Shit. _I'm wearing fucking swim shorts and no shirt! I use the tabletop for cover, thinking of dead puppies to make my best friend just _go away._

Kyle takes out the cribbage board and begins dealing the cards. We start to play, but I can tell neither of us is really into it. Slowly, the warm sensation ebbs away and my pants no longer feel too tight.

Finally, Kyle says quietly, "Did anything happen between you and Kenny?"

I drop my hand of cards, revealing the three straight I had to him. "Huh?"

"Well, I dunno. You guys just seem really on edge around each-other. And Kenny really put up a fight when you tried to put him to bed. I guess it's none of my business."

"It's no big deal," I say, sitting back on the bench. The card game is completely abandoned now. "He kind of—shit. I don't even know what happened. I _think _he made a move on me. A gay move. Which is weird because Kenny's, like, the straightest person on the planet, even if he doesn't act like it sometimes. Anyway, I thought he was joking so I called him a fag. I was only kidding around, but apparently he was serious. He got really offended, told me to fuck myself, and walked away. He didn't talk to me for like two weeks after that."

"Oh," Kyle says. He's quiet for a bit, processing what I've just told him. "Well, I guess it was stupid on his part to go about it that way."

"Go about what, what way?" I ask, frowning.

"Coming out to you, I guess." Kyle shrugs, shuffling his cards in his hands somewhat nervously.

"Wait—what? Are you telling me that Kenny really _is _gay?"

Kyle looks at me. "Well, he told me that he's bi, 'cause he still likes girls, see. But he—well, I'll let him tell you, it's none of my business."

"You know damn well that Kenny's not going to tell me shit," I say in a loud whisper, suddenly becoming hyper-aware that the subject of our conversation is just a curtain away from us. "Are you honestly saying that Kenny—Kenny McCormick—is bisexual?"

"Yes," Kyle says shortly, his face not showing anything other than seriousness. "And he likes you. Don't you like him back?" His question is so blunt it catches me off guard.

"..."

"Sorry, that was a dumb thing to say." Kyle rolls his eyes and rests his chin on his hand. "After all, how could you be gay? You're a sadistic Christian bastard who's been making fun of gays your whole life."

I stare at him. I still wonder now if he realized at the time that I knew he was quoting his own goddamn bookmark.

"What makes you so sure of that?" I ask him in a low growl.

"Well, um." Kyle bites his lip, avoiding my gaze. "I just know...when someone's gay. Because...well, I am."

I lean towards him over the table. He doesn't move away. "I know," I say softly.

His eyes widen, the pretty green irises dilating as I move even closer. "You—how?"

"I just know when someone's gay," I say, moving closer still. "Because I am."

I place my hands on the table and push myself forward slowly. Slowly. Our faces are inches apart. He stays stiff as a board, his mouth hanging open in shock, but he still doesn't move away from me.

My nose brushes his, and it's soft. His eyelids flutter shut as his breath begins to shake. I have to remind myself to breathe; the rest of the world seems to have frozen in time.

My nose touches his cheek, and it's also soft. I can feel his eyelashes tickling my other cheek. His lips part, his warm breath mingling with mine as I close the distance between our mouths slowly...slowly...

"I'M ON A BOAT! I'M ON A BOAT MOTHERFUCKERS!" Kenny screams as he bursts out of the cabin. Kyle jumps away from me as if he's been stung by a bee. "TAKE A LOOK AT ME I'M ON A MOTHER FUCKING BOAT! RIDIN' ON A DOLPHIN—FLIPPY FLOPPIES!"

As much as I would have liked to punch Kenny in the face for ruining what would have been the hottest moment of my life, I still play the good friend—for Kyle's sake, not Kenny's—and wrestle him back into the cabin, shoving him down onto the bed where he passes out instantly. I lie down next to him and stare at the ceiling for a long time, picturing the scene that just took place in my mind a million times over, from every angle, from every perspective. It was almost perfect. Why did fucking Kenny have to ruin it?

About ten minutes pass before I hear Kyle put the lantern out and climb into the cabin. He flops down on the other side of Kenny—meaning, as far away from me as possible. I pretend to be asleep to avoid conversation, even though I doubt Kyle really wants to talk to me right now anyway.

The last thing I hear before drifting off to sleep is Kyle's first, wet sob as he starts to cry.

* * *

_Author's Note: Thanks to kiikii22 for suggesting that Kenny sing "I'm On A Boat". Also, I don't own _Catcher In The Rye_ or "I'm On A Boat." The book is by J.D. Salinger and the song is by The Lonely Island. If you have not heard it, look it up on youtube. It's freaking hilarious. :-)_


	13. I Want You All To Myself

**Kyle's Jeans**

_By AllzStar_

_Author's Note: So I was extremely flattered with all the reviews that came in for the previous chapter...I'm glad you liked it so much! Hopefully this one won't be a dud in comparison. I've also started adding song quotes because I realized that there's a lot of music that applies to this story. Also, about the Catcher In The Rye reference in the last chapter, I totally did not know that they mentioned it in the episode on Wednesday, I have not seen the episode yet because it doesn't air until Sunday in Canada. It was just a coincidence! No spoilers for the episode please! Anyways, enjoy! ^^_

_**Chapter Thirtheen – I Want You All To Myself**_

_Please just follow me  
I thought you wanted me  
Cuz I want you all to myself_

_- All To Myself by Marianas Trench -_

"Well, see ya, Kenny," I say, hoisting his duffel bag onto the dock and stepping off the boat to shake his hand. "It's too bad you couldn't stay longer."

"Yeah, well, why ruin the fun for you guys?" Kenny asks with a knowing wink.

I bite my lip. "Kenny—"

He holds up a hand to silence me and the claps me on the back. "See ya at home, Cartman," he says, slinging his duffel over his shoulder and gathering the rest of his belongings in his arms. "Bye, Kyle!" he calls, lifting a hand to the redhead who is still onboard, his normally pale skin quickly turning bronze after having been in the Californian sun for five days.

Kyle jumps off the sailboat and moves to give Kenny a quick, slightly awkward, one-armed hug. "Bye, Ken," he says. "Hope you have fun with your family."

"Yeah, right," Kenny scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Have you _met _my family?"

"Well, best of look to you." I clap him on the back and walk him to the taxi. Kyle waves good-bye and then goes back to loading groceries onto the yacht. "Listen, Ken, I have to tell you something. I know you don't wanna talk about it, but I have to get it off my chest before you leave." Kenny waits, his eyebrows arched. I take a deep breath. "About what happened that day...I'm real sorry, man. I shouldn't have called you all those names. It was wrong, and...well, hypocritical." I run a hand through my hair sheepishly. "And I'm just...really sorry, dude."

Kenny stares at me for a second, and then his face breaks into a wide grin. He reaches out to shake my hand again. "Apology accepted," he says, pulling his ball cap low over his eyes. "See ya, Cartman." He throws his bags into the trunk of the taxi, gets in the passenger's seat, and then he's gone. I watch the bright yellow cap until it disappears into a watery mirage down the street.

I make my way back to the boat and find Kyle with his entire torso buried in the fridge. "What are you doing?" I ask.

"Well, we got too much food for this poor little fridge to take," he explains, his voice muffled from within the fridge. "So I'm stuffing some of it at the very, very back to make room. If some of the bread is squished in a few days, you'll know why."

We'd gone to a little market near the harbour earlier this morning to restock because Kenny had practically eaten us out of boat and home. Kyle refused to buy any more booze and I heartily agreed. I'd seen enough alcohol-smelling puke to last me a lifetime.

It wasn't that Kenny always drank irresponsibly. Just when he'd on vacation. I should have prepared Kyle, now that I think about it.

Anyway, I help Kyle put away the rest of the food and then we go about taking off out of the Anaheim harbour, which takes ten minutes longer than usual because this big ass motor boat won't get out of the goddamn way.

Finally, when we're out on the sea again, we crash on the padded bench on the deck, sipping lemonade. Kyle's reading _Catcher In The Rye _again, and he's using a torn piece of lined paper as a bookmark. I sort of feel bad for tossing his old bookmark to the sea, but I'd kinda freaked out and acted rashly without thinking. I'm not freaked because I don't want him to like me...I'm freaked because he does.

"Is that book any good?" I ask thoughtfully after about an hour of silence.

Kyle nods, not taking his eyes off the page.

Well. Talk about a conversation blocker.

I get up and go into the cabin to put away my empty lemonade glass and root around for my own book to read. Of course, since I don't own any, I haven't brought one. But Kyle's bound to have an extra book kicking around.

Sure enough, I find one sticking out of his duffel: _The Lightning Thief. _Wow, Kyle. And he says that he's too intelligent for kids' books.

I go back out on deck and hold the book up, looking at him questioningly. When Kyle finally looks up, his looks at the book blankly, and then at me. "What?"

"Isn't this book for, like, twelve-year-olds?"

"Uh-huh," Kyle says, smiling coyly. "I brought it for you."

I move to swat him with it, and his puts up his sun-browned arms in self-defence. "Hey, hey! Foul play!" he shrieks, barely masking his smile. "Cut it out!"

"You mock my intelligence, you get trashed, Broflovski," I sneer, grinning. I proceed to whack him lightly with the paperback several times. He squirms and tries to avoid the blows, but to no avail.

"Stop!" he shrieks, starting to giggle when I tap him in the side.

I blink, a slow smile creeping into the corner of my mouth. "Are you..._ticklish, _Kyle Broflovski?" I demand, standing straight with my hands on my hips.

He gapes up at me, the mirth in his eyes vanishing to be replaced with terror. "NO—!" he yells.

Too late. I attack him, going at him with my fingers at bay. I wiggle them all over his side, and he writhes and squirms in ecstasy, crying out for me to stop and practically screaming with laughter.

Suddenly, all in one moment, I lose track of everything. My mind goes blank; I can't hear a thing. I see Kyle rolling in mirth on the bench beneath me, but I can't process anything. I just have this blind, wild impulse. I have absolutely no option but to act on it.

I bend over him, still keeping my fingers dusting on his torso. He twists beneath my grasp, but I don't let him go. Instead I capture him—but in a completely different way than tickle torture. I cover his open mouth with my lips, silencing his shouting and ceasing his jerky movements. He lies completely still beneath me. My fingers freeze in place as all time stands still.

I finally pull away, and he's staring at me with eyes the size of emerald plates, his mouth open, his lips wet with my saliva. Suddenly his face breaks into the most beautiful smile I have ever seen. I feel my face light up as well, and bend to kiss him again.


	14. This Is How A Heart Breaks

**Kyle's Jeans**

_By AllzStar_

_Author's Note: So this chapter is uber short. I'm warning you now. ^^_

_**Chapter Fourteen – This Is How A Heart Breaks**_

_Life is like a mean machine  
It made a mess outta me  
It left me caught between  
Like an angry dream I was stranded, I was stranded  
And I'm steady but I'm starting to shake  
And I don't know how much more I can take  
This is it now  
Everybody get down  
This is all I can take  
This is how a heart breaks  
You take a hit now you feel it break down  
Make you stay wide awake  
This is how a heart breaks_

_- This Is How A Heart Breaks by Rob Thomas - _

It's bliss for about five seconds before Kyle gently pushes me away. "Stop."

I blink at him, stunned. "What?"

He bites his lip, his eyes looking everywhere but at me. "I shouldn't be doing this."

I probably have the stupidest look on my face but I don't care. I just gape at him. I can't believe my ears. "Why not?" I ask. I'm whining, but that hardly matters now.

He shakes his head and attempts to wriggle out from underneath me. But I keep him pressed down on the seat, and don't budge to let him up. He sighs, aiming his breath towards his floppy red bangs, which flare up with the impact. "Cartman, don't. Let me up."

"What's wrong?" I ask, forcing myself to remain calm and concerned. Half of me is a little annoyed that he led me on for so long and then decided to cut me down right when something happened.

"It's nothing to do with you, it's just..." He trails off, hoping that I get the idea.

I don't. "It's just what?" I demand, my brow coming down over my eyes slowly. "Kyle, tell me what's up. Give me one reason why we shouldn't be together." Wow, now there's a sentence I never thought I'd ever say.

Kyle looks at me sympathetically, his almond-shaped green eyes dipping at the corners to create a rather sad expression. "I'm just...involved with...someone else right now."

My lips smack together in a thin line as I try to prevent a flush from reddening my cheeks. This can't be happening. "What?" I demand, staring at him in shock. "_Who?_"

Kyle looks away bashfully, his hands coming up to cup his own face as it turns pink. "It's none of your business," he says; it's meant to be firm but he only sounds embarrassed. "I'm not an unfaithful person, Cartman."

"Well, it can't be that serious a relationship if you can't even tell me who you're seeing."

"Cartman, I'm not right for you."

I try to ignore the ache that's taken over my heart. "You're wrong," I growl.

"No. I'm not."

I desperately search for something—_anything—_to say that will change his mind. But I'm at a loss for words. All I can do now is—"Kyle...please."—Beg.

He refuses to meet my gaze. Instead, his emerald eyes focus somewhere under my arm, at the rolling blue waves that are carrying the boat out to the middle of nowhere.

I reach out and gently cup his cheek in my hand, turning his face so that he's looking at me. "You don't know how long I've..." I trail off, unable to complete the thought without looking like a total creeper. "I just...I need to know what I've done wrong."

Kyle gives me a pointed look, and I'm surprised to see some anger there. "You wanna know what you did wrong? Go through the past ten years in your head and then come back and ask me what you did wrong!"

I'm so stunned I don't even try and hold him down as he squirms out from under me and disappears into the cabin.

I sit on the bench and stare at the yawning sea. The waves seem to taunt me as they gently rock the boat, causing my torso to sway lazily. A salty breeze caresses my face, but it does nothing to comfort me.

So his rejection had nothing to do with something I'd messed up recently.

I'd been fucking up my chance since I met Kyle. Since I ridiculed him all through elementary and middle school and the first three years of high school. Finally, in our senior year, I had realized something about myself only to discover that I'd blown it years ago. And now school was over and Kyle was bound to go to some hoity-toity university and never see me again. And that, I guess, was okay with him.

A small part of my mind wonders idly who captured Kyle's heart back at home. I will it away. I don't care anymore. I've lost, and it's nobody's fault but my own.

I lie down on the bench, curling up foetus-style, and stare at an ant that is carrying a large piece of bread on its back as it crawls across the seat. The little fucker can carry something like five times its body weight easily. But I just can't support the weight my heart has right now. It feels like it's swelling in my chest, crushing all my other organs and squeezing the life out of me.

Wow.

So this is how a heart breaks.

_Author's Note: Told you. :-) Review anyway? :-)_


	15. I'm So Obsessed

**Kyle's Jeans**

_By AllzStar_

_Author's Note: Uuuuugghh writer's block!! Grr...This chapter is hella short. It's also rated M. Just warning ya ;)_

_**Chapter Fifteen – I'm So Obsessed**_

I wake up with a yelp, sitting up and bashing my head on the low ceiling of the cabin so hard that I fall back onto my pillow, feeling lightheaded. My forehead throbs, and, touching it gingerly, I feel the soon-to-be goose egg sized bump forming. Kyle stirs next to me but doesn't wake up, just shifts over even further from me so that he's practically spooned against the wall.

I sigh and rub my sweating forehead on my sleeve, staring up at the low, wooden ceiling miserably. Kyle had barely said a word to me the rest of the day. In fact, right after he'd rejected me he'd come here into the cabin and fallen asleep. _Fallen asleep. _But I'd seen the sticky substance staining his cheeks when he came out much later in the afternoon to make sure we were still on course, and I'd known that he'd cried himself to sleep.

Nothing makes any sense to me anymore. I thought for sure that he was into me. I'd felt all the vibes. He'd flirted with me. Why is he pushing me away now, now when there was nobody else around to interfere, now that nobody would know if we didn't want them to? He has every opportunity in the world on this little yacht, and he'd thrown it away. Thrown me away. I just don't understand.

Part of me is a little angry, but mostly I'm just hurt. Hurt and embarrassed that I'd actually believed someone like him would go for someone like me. Who am I kidding? I'd ridiculed the kid all his life. Two months of suddenly being nice isn't going to erase all the pain I had caused him.

I roll out of the bed and move into the tiny kitchen, where I help myself to one of the four remaining beers we have left. I sit at the table and listen to the nautical clock tick away on top of the mini fridge. The boat rocks and roll over the waves; after being on board for nearly a week, I'm used to the nauseating motion. I find myself leaning to and fro with the movement of the boat; for some reason, this makes me feel a little ill. I stop moving and just sit still, breathing deeply and sipping beer.

After what feels like hours later—but was probably only ten minutes—the gas lamp in the cabin flicks on and the curtain is pulled aside. A sleepy Kyle is standing there, one arm stretched up to rub his eye, his t-shirt riding up and exposing his pale, flat stomach. I look away, at the beer clutched between my hands. Kyle drops his arms and moves through the kitchen, passing me without a second glance. His eyes are wide open, staring straight ahead of him; his movements are wooden as he climbs the steps and opens the latch to the front deck.

I frown as I watch him go. He leaves the door open.

I follow him, leaving my beer on the table. He's just wandering around the deck aimlessly, never blinking, his mouth hanging slightly open.

"Cartman," he says, not looking at me, but facing the wind. "Cartman."

"What?" I asks.

He doesn't turn. Doesn't even acknowledge me. Then he turns towards the bow and heads forward, tripping on some rope and almost falling. I reach out to catch him, but remember at the last minute that disturbing a sleepwalker is a very bad idea.

Kyle climbs towards the bow and eventually gets there, standing on the very tip, his fingers curled much too loosely around the rope railing. He is just staring at the sea blankly, that absent look never leaving his face. "Cartman!" he calls.

I keep quiet, watching him. I stay close so that I can catch him if he decides to take a midnight swim.

Suddenly he whirls, losing his balance. I grab his arm, steadying him, then let go immediately as he gains his balance back. He moves back towards the main deck, his red curls tousling softly in the breeze. I follow him, staying close enough to help him but far enough away that I wouldn't disturb him.

We end up back on the main deck, and then he turns suddenly, nearly smacking into me. His eyes stared blankly at my chest as he speaks rapidly: "I'm sorry, so sorry, I can't, I'm afraid," he wails, his hands balling into his hair. "Oh, Abraham, help me...guide my way...I can't do this anymore...trapped...this boat...the walls pressing in..."

I reach towards him, but he shies back, as if he can sense me. "I promised...Stan, I promised you..." he mutters, turning away from me and standing stock still with his back to me. "But I..." He moans suddenly, a guttural whine that sends all my blood rushing to my dick. I squirm, trying to calm down my trouser dragon. "It felt so good..." Kyle mumbles, shuddering as a gust of relatively cool air passes against him.

Before I know it he has his hand in his boxers and is stroking himself senseless, moaning and groaning along with the rhythm he sets for himself. My erection begins to throb as I watch. I want to move away—and I sure would have if I hadn't been worried he'd go overboard any second.

After about a minute his knees buckle—I rush forth to catch him. I thought he'd finished but he keeps going, jerking himself off in my arms. I don't know what to do. I stand there, in the middle of the deck, shivering in the cool night air, holding the object of all my fantasies in my arms as he masturbates. I could have woken him, but I'm scared that that would embarrass him to death.

Finally, a few minutes later, he climaxes, moaning helplessly and writhing in the after affects of his orgasm. I support him as he slumps into me, going back to "sleep" and snoring against my shoulder.

Sighing, I wait for my erection to die down before I scoop him up in my arms—with ease, I might add—and carry him back to the cabin. I lie him down on the bed, stumbling slightly as I go. I end up half on top of him, and remain there longer than necessary, staring down at him. I brush a stray curl from his face. Then his eyes open slowly, blinking at me.

I don't move.


	16. Show Me Your Teeth

**Kyle's Jeans**

_By AllzStar_

_Author's Note: Ugh, this chapter is even shorter than the last two. I am so sorry. I don't deserve to liiiiiiive....._

_**Chapter Sixteen – Show Me Your Teeth**_

_I'm gonna love you with my hands tied_  
_Show me your teeth_  
_Just tell me when_  
_Show me your teeth_  
_Open your mouth boy_  
_Show me your teeth_  
_Show me whatcha got_  
_Show me your teeth teeth teeth teeth_

_- Teeth by Lady Gaga - _

I'm in that weird dimension between sanity and euphoria; ready to be permanently split in two as we stare each-other down. I'm still half on top of him, my face about six inches from his. From this angle he looks very vulnerable, and very, very adorable. I can see the telltale lust in his eyes that will eventually betray whoever the hell he's seeing back home. A nagging thought wriggles at the back of my mind, and I know in an instant who it is.

I don't quite know how it happens, but all of a sudden I'm kissing him. Or he's kissing me. Either way, our lips are locked so tight I can't tell whose are whose. They mesh and crawl together like soft pink caterpillars, each trying to devour the other. The kiss is not passionate, nor is it sweet. It's rough. It's angry. It's incredibly sexy, and I find myself turned on very quickly.

I climb up onto the mattress so that I'm straddling him. I feel his fingers, butterfly-light, flutter up my sides to lock into my hair, pulling me eve closer. His breathing becomes laboured, as does mine—and we're out of breath. But we barely surface for air. Our bodies begin to move of their own accord, pressing up against each-other and causing delicious noises to rise up from Kyle's throat. His teeth come out of nowhere, biting down on my lower lip and tugging. I groan involuntarily, a low growl at the back of my throat. Blood pools at that particular spot in my pants and my hand goes to his hip, guiding his pelvis against mine.

He moans softly, breaking our kiss and tilting his head back. Getting the idea, I latch my mouth onto his neck, licking and biting the soft skin there. I leave a trail of kisses to his collarbone, and then quickly come back to capture his gasping lips with mine.

In the heat of it all I somehow end up shirtless. All self-consciousness has gone out the window. My angel writhes and gasps beneath me each time our hips rut against each-other, and I don't really give a fuck about anything else.

Nothing else at all.

Something smells like vomit. That's the first thing to register in my mind when I slowly drift into consciousness. That warm, fuzzy sensation is everywhere, the utopian haze of happiness and the smell of alcohol and sex still lingering in the air. And vomit. Where does that play in?

My question is soon answered as the sound of Kyle retching and gagging reaches my ears. My stomach lurches, but I quickly calm myself and rise onto my elbows, staring concernedly at the open bathroom door, where Kyle is crouched over the make-shift toilet, his small back heaving. He's been at it for a while; nothing is coming up anymore.

"Kyle?" I murmur softly, still half asleep.

He makes a strange gurgling noise and then heaves again.

I reach for my bag and unzip the small first aid kit that I hastily packed and brought along. I hope that I remembered Gravol.

Thank God. I did. I push out two lozenges and sit up, reaching towards Kyle. "Take some Gravol."

"In a minute," Kyle says, panting over the toilet bowl.

I sit back, staring stupidly at the lozenges in my hand. My mind flips through the events of the following night wildly. I try to skip through the thoughts that immediately fill my mind, the images of peach skin and red hair and a blur of other things. The night before that incident. Kyle on the main deck, his hand in his pants. Sleep walking. Muttering things. And before that...our argument. Then he'd disappeared into the cabin. I'd thought he was sleeping.

I pull myself out of bed, hastily pulling my boxers over my ass. I wander into the kitchen and pull the mini-fridge open. When I'd come out here for a beer last night...there'd been four beers left. But I swear...last time I'd checked...there were nine...

My eyes go wide, and I glance towards the bathroom. Kyle, who'd barely touched an alcoholic beverage in his life, had drank _five _beers? What was he thinking? No wonder he's sick.

That would also explain why he actually slept with me. He wasn't in his right mind.

I feel my face go pale, and now I feel kind of sick.

_Shit._


	17. He Wasn't What I Thought, No

**Kyle's Jeans**

_By AllzStar_

_Author's Note: This chapter gets quite sappy...but I figured you guys would like it that way. xD_

_**Chapter Seventeen – He Wasn't What I Thought, No**_

_He wasn't what I wanted  
What I thought, no  
He wouldn't even open up the door  
He never made me feel like I was special  
He isn't really what I'm looking for_

_- He Wasn't by Avril Lavigne -_

"Feeling better?" I don't recognize my voice, but I know it was me that spoke.

Kyle gurgles something unintelligible, his head still bent over the toilet. He groans, one hand draped loosely over his flat, bare stomach. His boxers are sticking to his butt and thighs, drenched in sweat. _Shit, _I think through the rage, _he is really sick. _"Shit," he manages before he retches again, his small body convulsing with dry heaves.

I look away, barely keeping the disgust off my face. Vomit has never been a strong point for me.

I decide to let him be, pulling on some shorts and a t-shirt before exiting the cabin.

Outside, the breeze is surprisingly cool, caressing my face and tugging at my t-shirt lazily. I welcome it, happy to be relieved from the otherwise sweltering Californian heat. I just stand there for a long time, thinking. I forget what I was thinking about.

Twenty minutes or so later, Kyle emerges, still a little green around the gills, and drops onto the bench, groaning softly. He lies there in silence for a few minutes, his eyes closed, breathing deeply. I glance at him distastefully. I can't believe he did that. "Kyle."

"Mm," he says, frowning.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

He opens his eyes and stares at me. "Come again?"

"Asked what the fuck your problem is. Drinking five simultaneous beers when you've never had alcohol before? What the hell were you thinking?"

Kyle's mouth opens and closes quickly, his eyes growing huge. "I don't know...I just—I was upset, I guess."

"Upset? About what?"

He glares at me. "You know what."

"So you try to give yourself alcohol poisoning? Do you know how stupid that was?"

"You know, Cartman, I don't give a flying fuck what you think." Kyle sits up carefully, closing his eyes as a wave of nausea comes over him, I guess. He swings his legs over the seat and stands; his knees immediately buckle and he goes down with an agonized moan.

I stay where I am, my hands jammed into my pockets, my mouth pressed in a thin line. "It's you own fucking fault, Kyle," I spit.

He shudders and curls up on the floor. "Fuck off."

"You always do this. Put the blame on me. For everything. Ever since we were kids. This was _your fault, _Kyle."

He doesn't say anything, just curls into a tighter ball, hugging his bony knees to his chest. His forehead is beaded with sweat; his curly bangs stick to his forehead. He doesn't look quite so appealing right now.

"Well, I'm _sorry _that I have morals, Cartman. Unlike you, I remain faithful to loved ones. I guess you just can't grasp that concept," Kyle says, his words slurring slightly.

"FUCK you!" I yell, crouching down to his level and taking a fistful of his hair in my hand, jerking his head up so that he has to look at me. "You look me in the fucking eyes and say that again, you fucking whore! You think of what happened last night and look me in the fucking eyes and say that AGAIN!"

The glare has faded from his face, and instead there is fear. And a bit of confusion. "...The fuck are you talking about? Let me go, you fucker! Ow!" He winces when I give his hair a rough yank.

Blood is rushing past my ears, but I don't really feel angry. The hurt is just too much to bear now. I'm losing it. Something drips onto my arm; I start when I realize it's a tear. I'm crying. I'm shaking. Control slips away, and I am suddenly very afraid of my own strength. Kyle looks so vulnerable beneath me, squirming and gasping in pain, his green eyes bright with fear. He is so breakable. One twist with my hands and that fragile neck is done for...one squeeze too tight and those lungs are crushed....

I stagger back and away from him, my head reeling. I go careening towards the side of the boat, my hands wheeling for gravity. They seize the boom and clutch it, barely keeping me from toppling over the edge and into the turquoise waters below.

Kyle is on his feet, swaying slightly, his face just growing more and more pale. He takes a step towards me, winces, and stops, his eyes closing. "Ow," he breathes.

I narrow my eyes at him and regain my balance on the deck.

Kyle shades his eyes with his hand, staring at me. "You could kill me."

"I know," I say, staring down at my hands. "I wanted to."

"I know. I saw it in your eyes." He closes his eyes again and breathes deeply. "It's Stan," he says quietly. "He's the one I'm seeing back home." He opens his eyes and looks at me, and there's a silent apology written across his face. "I wasn't supposed to tell anyone because he's not ready to come out as bisexual yet. But we've been secretly seeing each-other for about three weeks now."

I try as hard as I can to keep any emotion I might be feeling to show on my face. "And Wendy?"

Kyle shakes his head. "She doesn't know. Obviously."

"So it's okay for him to cheat on Wendy...but it's not okay for you to cheat on him?"

Kyle's eyes suddenly well with tears, and I know I've hit a nerve. He blinks them away and squares his shoulders, his chin jutting out towards me. "Stan can take care of himself. Just because he's unfaithful doesn't mean I have to be."

"He's using you," I growl.

"How do you know?" he snaps defensively.

"Come on, Kyle." I roll my eyes towards the heavens and cross my arms over my chest. "You really think Marsh doesn't wanna be seen with you because he's worried about coming out? If he still likes girls, nobody will give a fuck if he's bisexual."

"What are you saying?"

"Really, Kyle. I thought you were smart."

His bottom lip quivers, betraying his emotions. His stance is defensive, but there's nothing but hurt in his face. "You don't know anything, Cartman. You know nothing about love. You don't love anyone, and nobody loves you. So don't you dare stand there and challenge my relationship. You don't know one fucking thing."

"I know enough," I roar, losing patience fast. "And I know he's using you."

"For sex?"

"I dunno. Whatever he wants."

Kyle is silent for a moment, contemplating this. He sighs and straightens up, running a hand through his hair. "Is what he's doing any worse than what you're doing?"

I scowl and open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. I think, my brain racing away at a hundred miles per hour, before I finally blurt out a lame, "What am I doing?"

"Aren't you using me?" Kyle asks, raising an eyebrow. "Taking advantage of me? All alone on this tiny yacht? I bet you had Kenny leave early on purpose. Am I right?"

"Kenny left of his own accord," I say quickly. "And I'd never take advantage of you, Kyle. If anyone here is to blame, it's you."

"Me?" he demands. "_Me?_ I'm not the one who took advantage of you when you were morbidly _trashed._"

"Well, it's not my fault you were morbidly trashed," I snap. "And don't say you didn't like it."

"I didn't say that."

"Good. Because you did. Alcohol or not. You wanted it. You have for a while."

"Cartman."

"So let's _stop pissing around now!_" I cry, throwing my hands in the air. "_Why _do we always do this? Dance around the subject, never standing still? It's infuriating. Why don't we..._take advantage _of our time together here?"

"Because I am involved with someone back home!" Kyle yells. "Because he is important to me and I can't betray him like that!"

"He does it to you _every day!_" I take several steps towards him and grasp his tiny chin in my hand, gently. "Kyle, he does." I look directly into his eyes. "No matter how much you may want to believe it, you know it's true. You know Stan Marsh isn't gay. You _know _that. And you _know _that in the end...he's gonna leave you. You'll be hurt, in the end. You know that. Don't you?"

His bottom lip trembles, and he barely blinks back the water that pools in his eyes. He looks away, gently pulling his chin from my hand. We stand there, inches apart, in silence. He sniffles, looks anywhere but at me. A tear catches his cheek and rolls down, and I gently catch it with the pad of my thumb.

"H-how do I know you won't leave me?" Kyle asks softly, after several long moments. "Y-you've hated me our whole lives. How do I know w-what you feel for me isn't just a ph-phase?"

"It's gone on too long to be just a phase," I say. I breathe deeply, my chest rising and falling steadily. "Three years."

"Three?" Kyle asks, his eyes widening. He finally looks at me, only for a split second. Then he looks up, at the sky. "Three years."

"Yep."

"That's a long time."

"I _know._"

"I don't know...what to say."

"Don't say anything. Just...." I step closer and gently, hesitantly, pull him into my arms. He becomes rigid, but soon relaxes, his arms lazily linking around my waist. His face curls perfectly into the crook of my arm; his salty tears stain my t-shirt, but I hardly care.

"Eric?"

My heart flutters as he uses my real name. "Yes?"

"You won't leave me, will you?"

I sigh, and reach up with one hand to stroke the back of his head. I breathe, "Never."

He squeezes me tighter, and I know he believes me.


	18. Stings More Than Your Abandonment

**Kyle's Jeans**

_By AllzStar_

_Author's Note: Review EXPLOSION! I is happy now. xD Unfortunately...I ran out of time for a long chapter. So here's a little update to tide you over._

_**Chapter Eighteen – Stings More Than Your Abandonment **_

_- Ellen Page, "JUNO"_

I've got that warm, fuzzy feeling everywhere as I sigh and roll over, the soft blanket tickling my bare skin pleasantly. I never thought I would ever feel so euphoric, but here it is. Kyle is curled up to my chest, his hands by his chin, breathing steadily as he drifts through dreamland. His red hair is cutely dishevelled, the curls sticking out this way and that in an array of fiery wildness. I stroke his cheek gently with one finger, trailing it down his arm. He smiles a little and nuzzles closer to me.

I'm afraid that I'm turning into the biggest softie ever to walk the face of the earth.

He murmurs softly, "Eric?"

"Mm?"

"I lied."

"Mm? About what?"

"About Stan."

I look at him, one eyebrow raised. "Huh?"

"I'm not actually seeing him."

"Then why did you say you were?"

He shrugs, his bottom lip jutting out slightly. I kiss it gently before looking him in the eye. "Why'd you lie?"

"Because I thought you'd be even more mad about whom I'm really seeing."

I sigh. "Kyle...I was mad because I know there's no way Stan Marsh is gay. I knew he'd only be using you if you were actually having a thing with him. So who is it really?"

He pauses, biting his lip, unsure. I nudge him with my nose, breathing lightly on his ear to encourage him.

"Kenny."

My eyes open wide, but I hide my alarm from him quickly. "What? Really?"

He nods, eyes watering. "That's why he kept getting drunk when he was here. That's why he left early. I didn't want to tell anyone about us, and so he was upset with me. But I think he was really more concerned about hurting you."

My mind is reeling, trying to process all this information. Kenny—_my best friend, _Kenny McCormick—is dating the guy _he knows_ I've loved for three years? What the fuck? What kind of friend does that? I thought Kenny had a thing for _me! _"How long has that been going on?" I ask.

He shrugs. "A month...maybe more."

So after that whole ordeal on that strange Tuesday afternoon. After all that shit he pulled. After I—_supposedly_—broke his heart. So, because I hurt him, he went and hurt me right back. I barely suppress a bellow of rage; my fists clench so tight my fingernails dig into my palms. "Motherfucker."

"I'm sorry, Eric," Kyle apologizes quickly. "I'm really sorry. If I'd known that you...about me...I wouldn't have even thought about it. But he was so sweet, and I thought...well, I don't know. I wasn't thinking I guess. But it's not like you and I were together. I guess there was nothing wrong with it...I guess."

"He knew, though. He knew how I felt about you."

"Oh. Well...I think he was just mad at you."

"Sure, sure. But that's no reason to do something like that."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm gonna kick his ass when we get back."

"Aw, leave him alone. He needs to get over it. I'm serious, Eric. Don't."

I sigh, pulling him closer to me. Our legs twine together under the sheets. "I can't promise anything."

He giggles against my collarbone. "Just let him be."

"I'll try."

The moments of silence that follow are enough to put Kyle back to sleep. Soon he's breathing deeply again, crushed against me like he never wants to let go. I know that feeling. But my mind is far from restful. Gears are whirring. Hurt churns my stomach unpleasantly. I feel gross, and even Kyle's ever-present sweet scent isn't enough to make me feel better. I feel betrayed.

I don't know if I can forgive Kenny for this.


	19. I'm Only Gonna Break Your Heart

**Kyle's Jeans**

_By AllzStar_

_Author's Note: This took forever. Sorry, kids._

_**Chapter Nineteen – I'm Only Gonna Break Your Heart**_

"So when were you planning on telling me?"

Kenny looks up, his brow set in the slightest of frowns, the cocky smile slowly fading from his lips. "Telling you what, dude?"

My eyes are on the coolers as he loads one up with cans of pop and juice boxes and the other with booze. His white t-shirt is sticking to his skinny-ass frame in the heat; his hair is dark with sand and sweat. It's fucking hot out here. I tug on the collar of my t-shirt, really wishing I hadn't gained five pounds on that damn boat.

"You know what," I say dully.

Kenny shrugs, rummaging through the cooler to bury the cans under the ice. "No I don't, dude."

"The fuck do you think I'm talking about? I spend a week alone with Kyle on a boat and then I come back and ask you when you were planning on telling me...something? Hello?"

He's frozen, half bent over the cooler, a sweating can of Diet Pepsi in his hand.

I shift in my seat, adjusting to the discomfort of the picnic bench. Fuck California, man. I'd take cold little South Park over this blistering heat any day.

I wait for Kenny to answer. He doesn't. He just pops the top of the can he's holding and takes a swig. A long one. Pretty sure he chugged a bunch of it. Then he sits down next to me, backwards on the picnic bench, his elbows resting on the table behind him, and sighs.

"I wasn't."

"Clearly."

He looks away; anywhere but at me. I know he feels bad. Well, he should. The fucker.

"So?" I ask.

"So, what?"

"What do you have to say about it?"

"What are you? My mom? Fuck off, Cartman."

I laugh, but there is absolutely no humour in it. "I don't get you. What happened to best friends? Blood brothers? You remember that? Then you turn around and stab me in the fucking back?"

"Why are you putting this all on me?"

"Who else am I gonna put it on? Kyle?"

"Uh, _yeah_! He came on to me, you know."

"He was ignorant to the fact that I've been in love with him for three years!"

Kenny scoffs. "Yeah. Puh-leeze. He was the first to figure it out. You're pretty fucking obvious, Cartman."

"It doesn't matter. You're a fucking backstabbing boner prick, and I hate you."

He smirks and takes another swig of Pepsi. "You'll be crawling back to me tomorrow."

I reach over and knock the Pepsi from his hands, spilling dark, fizzy liquid all over him, the bench and the coolers below. He curses softly under his breath and bends to pick up the can.

"Cocky son of a bitch," I mutter, crossing my arms over my broad chest. "You're a fucking dick, man."

"At least I don't suck it," Kenny retorted icily, standing up to clean up the mess.

I stand up and punch him as hard as I can. "THE FUCK YOU DO!" I scream as his head comes back around slowly, his hand going to his jaw. "The pot calling the kettle faggot! Motherfucker!"

I'm so mad everything has taken on this reddish tint. Kenny's staring at me like I've lost it, and fuck if I have. I'm about to scream more profanities at him when a stubborn voice shouts, "The hell is going on over here?"

I turn around. It's Kyle. And Craig Tucker. And a couple of other nobodies. Kyle looks at me questioningly, and then his gaze hardens when he assesses the situation. "Kenny, these guys need help with the dining tent; can you lend them a hand?"

Kenny nods and passes me slowly. I don't miss the knowing looks Kyle gives him on his way by. The group flocks towards the lawn and Kyle turns to me slowly.

"You promised to leave him alone."

"Hey—I was trying to be civilized about it. He was being a dick. You should have heard the things he said."

"Cartman." Kyle's voice is firm and low. "You promised me."

"I didn't promise you shit," I say, pushing past him rather roughly and almost sending him to the ground. "You're just as bad as he is, you know? You guys are—fucking—_perfect _for each other."

"Where are you going?" he demands as I begin to walk away.

"Away from here."

"But it's your party..."

I turn around, and Kyle's expression changes dramatically when he sees my face. "It can be yours and Kenny's now," I say softly.

He protests shrilly, but I just turn and walk.

He's got my arm in an instant. "Eric. Don't."

"What am I supposed to believe here, Kyle? That it's over between you and him?"

"It is."

"But there's not anything between us, is there?"

He stutters, his eyes rolling. I can almost hear the gears in his mind turning. "Don't do this."

"Answer me, Kyle. If it's true, you should be able to. Do you love me, or not?"

"Eric...our relationship is pretty new still..."

"Are you even attracted to me in any way?"

He frowns. "Of course."

"Uh-huh. What about me is so attractive?"

I expect him to have to pause and think about it, but instead he launches right in. "You're always there for me," he says quickly. "You care for me so much and I've never felt so loved by anyone in my life."

"But you don't want to be with me, do you?"

He bites his lip and looks up at me, and damn—my heart swells till I think I might cry. "I thought I did."

"What happened?"

He shrugs and looks away. "Life."

"Well, have a nice one."

"Eric."

"What?"

"I don't want you to go."

"You don't want me to stay, either."

"You're being melodramatic."

"And you're breaking my heart."

His mouth opens, closes, opens, closes. Like a fish. Searching for something to say. A breeze plays at the curls at his forehead and I barely resist the urge to tuck a stray curl behind his ear.

I wait for him to say something. He doesn't.

I turn.

Walk away.

He doesn't call me back.

_Author's Note: I've gotten into the writing style of simplicity. It's not satisfactory for this chapter. Sorry, folks._


	20. Can I Hide My Stupid Hunger

**Kyle's Jeans**

_By AllzStar_

_Author's Note: I'm trying to make an effort not to make this chapter suck like the previous three or four have. Bear with me people—life is hell right now. Who cares? I fight through it. :-)_

_**Chapter Twenty – Can I Hide My Stupid Hunger**_

I feel like I've completely shut down for a year. Two years? Five. I don't know. I've lost count. The numbers on my bedside clock don't mean anything to me anymore. Mom keeps knocking on my door, offering me food and comfort, but I never even answer her. It's not fair, I know—technically I shouldn't be living here anymore as I'm turning eighteen in a few weeks and have graduated high school. She's put up with my shit all her life, and she never complains. But I'm practically dead. A vegetable.

My cell phone buzzes on my night table every twenty minutes or so. I don't know who the texts are from, but whoever it is, he's a persistent little fucker. I like to think that it's Kyle. But I know it isn't.

Kenny has even called me. From his home phone, for Chrissakes, as if I wouldn't recognize the number.

I pull the covers back up to my chin and drift back off to sleep.

When I wake up it's dark outside. The dull yellow light from the single lamppost outside my bedroom window filters weakly through my blinds, creating finger-like pools of light on the carpet.

My phone buzzes. I snap to attention and automatically reach for it, forgetting my vow of solitude. The message is from Kenny.

_That's it. I'm coming over._

Shit. I reach up and try to pull my window shut, but my muscles don't seem to want to respond. How the hell long have I been in bed? I try to pull myself up, but to no avail. I am going to end up like one of those beached whales on the biggest loser.

I'm finally eye-level with the window when I come face to face with a pair of vibrant blue eyes and a mouth that's wide with a loud curse word. I try to slam the window down, but my reflexes are too slow and Kenny has wiggled through the frame and spilled onto my bed before my fingers have touched the latch.

"Fuck you, fatass," Kenny snaps. "I've been at that window for like ten minutes trying to get over your fucking flower bed. Who has a fucking window flower bed in South Park?" He scoffs, vainly brushing dirt off his skinny jeans. His clothing is permanently stained with dirt and other filth he picks up around town.

"Wasn't expecting a visitor," I mean to say, but my voice is scratchy and only a few squeaky syllables come out. My throat burns like a bitch.

Kenny's angry expression fades as he takes in my ragged appearance. "Jesus, Cartman. What happened to you?"

"Shit," I grumble. "It happens. Now get out of my room."

"Cartman, it's been two weeks, man. You know I can't stay mad that long."

I start. Two weeks? Holy shit! I've been lying in bed, wasting away, for two whole weeks. Fuck me. No wonder my muscles are mush and my throat feels like it's on fire.

Kenny's face is ashen. "You're really beat up about all this aren't you?"

"Your fucking fault."

He pauses. "Yeah," he says softly. "It is my fault."

I turn over in bed and face the wall, but I know he's going to talk anyway.

"Cartman." Silence. "Listen. I'm sorry, man, alright? I'm sorry. I'm a dick, a little concave one, and I honestly want to kill myself right now but I literally can't." He chuckles dryly. "I don't know what made me do it. We were at this party...I think you were there, too, I can't remember. He was drunk. I was shitfaced. There was dancing and then, well, you know. We didn't really hook up, but we did, well, everything but. And I feel awful. But you have to know it wasn't without motivation."

"Yeah, of course," I scoff. "It's gotta be _my_ fault."

"Well, no. Not really." Kenny lets out a frustrated noise and runs a hand through his dishevelled ash blond hair. "I mean, it's mine. And yours. Or it's yours because of the way you reacted to my fault."

I give him a strange look.

He continues, "I'm straight, okay?"

I give a barking laugh. "You're not."

"I am."

"_No_." It's the most vicious sounding 'no' I have ever heard in my life.

Kenny rolls his eyes. "Look, I tried the whole gay thing. I thought I was. I mean, almost all of my friends are. I figured, well, it can't be that bad if everybody is doing it. So I went for you, naturally, because you're my best friend. But you rejected me. And to be honest, even though I never really had—and still don't have and never will—any feelings for you, at least that way, I was hurt. So, yeah, I stabbed you in the back. Kyle was an easy target because he was vulnerable after his break up with Craig so I went for it. I knew it was wrong. I knew you'd be pissed. So I saw him in secret so you wouldn't find out. But he told you, so I guess it was all for nothing. But—you have to believe me here. I don't feel anything for Kyle. No sexual feelings whatsoever. He was a pawn in my plan to get revenge on you. And I know I broke you. And I'm sorry, Eric. I am so sorry."

I'm staring at him, wide-eyed. I have never heard Kenny say so much. He looks so sincere that I know he's telling the truth. I believe him. And I know he knows that I believe him.

"I have to tell you this Eric, and you need to believe me, because it will make things right again." He pauses for effect. "Kyle's in love with you, Eric. He hasn't really shown it because he was worried about my feelings, but I just talked to him and set things straight. He's pissed at me, sure—he won't talk to me for a few weeks, maybe. But now he just feels awful for what he did to you. You need to go see him. Like, now. He's not taking this too well."

I sit there, on my bed, staring at him. I'm processing this information incredibly slowly. "Why doesn't he come here?"

Kenny scoffs. "You think his mom is gonna let him leave the house in the middle of the night?"

"True," I say, shrugging.

"He left his window open for you. He's on the main floor now, at the back of the house. So go kiss and make up, homo." Kenny grins widely.

Does he really expect me to just jump up and race to Kyle's house like I'm his knight in shining armour? If Kyle really loves me, why did he send Kenny as a messenger? If he really wants be back so bad, why didn't he fucking sneak out of his house and climb through my window instead? Kyle hurt me. I've been in bed for two weeks because of him. I don't know what to feel anymore. I just wish they would leave me alone so I can let this wound heal so I can move on with my life.

Kenny's face falls when he senses my hesitation. "Don't tell me you don't love him anymore..."

I shake my head. I don't know.

Kenny waits silently, his arms hanging limply down by his side. "I fucked up so badly, didn't I? I've ruined everything." His voice breaks.

No. No _way_. Kenny McCormick is not going to cry in my room.

"I don't know what I feel," I say. "I'm confused. I need time to think. Can you leave, please?"

He nods and flies to my window all too eagerly.

"You can use the front door, you know," I say. "My mom had sherry, so she's out for the night."

He smiles appreciatively. "See you tomorrow?"

"I'll call you." No, I won't.

I lie awake for hours after Kenny leaves, just staring at the ceiling. Part of me is screaming to get my fat ass over to Kyle's and kiss him and forget all the fuck ups that have happened and start all over. But the more dominant half can't get over the fact that he hurt me. Shoved a knife through my heart and kept turning it. He'd masturbated while dreaming of Kenny in my arms. Like, what the fuck? Am I supposed to believe all the feelings he had for Kenny are all gone now? That everything is okay? _Nothing_ is okay! I feel like my insides are being ripped apart, piece by piece.

I stay in bed. I don't get up the next morning. I don't answer my phone when Kenny calls me. I lock my window and my bedroom door.

I'm starting to think I will never get over this.

_Author's Note: Whew. I hate to break it to you, but I think I might be wrapping this up soon. Two more chapters, max. I think it's time to end this twisted story, don't you? :-) Please review!_


	21. The Last Contagious Victim Of This

**Kyle's Jeans**

_By AllzStar_

_Author's Note: Okay, I lied. This is the last chapter. I'm thinking of writing another Kyman story after this, but I'm gonna focus on the Krenny one I'm working on right now first. Anyways, enjoy. (If anyone has any suggestions for a Kyman story, please PM me. I'm fresh out of ideas lol)_

_**Chapter Twenty-One – The Last Contagious Victim Of This**_

I don't know what I'm doing here. I really don't. I feel awkward and uncomfortable, like I'm doing something I know I shouldn't be doing. But really, what was wrong with standing on someone's doorstep?

...Really?

It takes a hell of a long time for me to actually work up the nerve to ring the bell, and a hell of a lot longer for someone to actually answer the damn door.

The door clicks and swings open, and there stands Ike Broflovski, bleary-eyed, wearing nothing but plaid pyjama bottoms and socks. He rubs his eye sleepily and peers down at me. Yes, _down. _I'm five ten, and this fourteen year old is taller than me. Fucking Canadians.

"What do you want?" he asks groggily.

"Kyle around?" I ask sheepishly, my hands deep in my pockets.

Ike looks over his shoulder and shrugs. "I dunno."

I give him a pointed look. "Can you check?"

"He might be sleeping. You wanna come by later?"

"I can't come later. Can you wake him up please? It's really important."

Ike rolls his eyes and grumbles as he wanders up the stairs.

I stand awkwardly in the doorway, the door ajar, not wanting to just walk into the house I used to just stroll into with a cocky grin and a jab about Jew smell on my tongue. I feel like an intruder now, on the threshold; in limbo between worlds. My life has become a false reality. I remember what I'm here for. To break out of all this shit. To get out and get on with my life while I'm still here. I'm not going to be the last contagious victim of this hellhole of a town, and I know I'm not the first, but I'm going to heal if I have to force myself to.

Kyle comes down a few minutes later. I almost burst into tears.

_He's wearing those fucking stupid jeans._

And a tight polo shirt and there's a pencil behind his ear and he got a haircut. _Short. _Like, shorter than mine. His hair resides in tight curls cropped close to his head. He looks ridiculous.

But those jeans...

...those jeans...

...Don't do anything for me anymore.

"Hi, Kyle," I say, taking my hands out of my pockets.

"Hi," he says warmly, leaning against the doorframe. He said it like one of those soupy actresses in those awful romantic comedy movies. Blegh.

"Hi," I say again. "Listen—"

"No, let me," Kyle says. "I'm sorry, Eric. For everything that happened. It was a severe lack of communication on my part, and I'm sorry. And I hope you know that I never meant to hurt you."

I look at him, look straight into his eyes as if I can see right through him. And for the first time, I can. "Be as sorry as you want," I say. "It's not going to change the fact that you ripped me apart. I know I didn't handle the situation perfectly, either, and I'm not going to pretend like you're the only one in the wrong. In fact, I'm even angrier with myself for what happened. Because I let you walk all over me. And I will never let anybody have that effect on me ever again."

His face has fallen into one of surprise. He looks at me pleadingly. "Eric...I don't know what to..."

I hold up a hand to stop him. "Just don't say anything."

"I want to be with you," he cries, stepping forward into my arms and hugging me around the waist. "I sort of always did, but I didn't know how to approach you. It always felt so odd, since we were childhood enemies pretty much. But after that night with Craig...I realized you'd grown up. And I knew I had too."

As gently as I can, I grab his forearms and push him away from me. "No, Kyle," I say. "You're too disorganized for a relationship right now. You can't make up your mind. And I don't want to be your trial while you decide what you really want. I'm sorry, but I'm not sticking around for you to figure all that out." I laugh dryly. "No. You know what? I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry at all. You should be sorry for missing out. For blowing any chances you had with me. Because, you know what? I am a good person. And I would have been perfect for you and cared for you till we were old. But I know I could never expect the same from you, so why bother? You don't deserve me. Whatever there was here—if there ever was something here—is over. I just wish I could have stopped it from beginning."

And with that, I turn on my heel and stride away from Kyle, leaving him dumbfounded in the doorway.

And I leave all my problems and misery behind on that doorstep with Kyle's jeans.

* * *

It's dawn by the time I get to Stark's Pond. The sun is setting behind the mountains in pinks and oranges and all that shit.

I feel like I've lost twenty pounds. I feel light and free. I feel happy. It's an alien feeling, but I embrace it.

A truck pulls up in the sad excuse for a parking lot and a single figure gets out. The flare of a lighter erupts shortly before the familiar smoke from a cigarette is exhaled into the night. I don't move from my spot as the person approaches me and leans on the railing a few feet away.

"Hey, Cartman," Stan Marsh says, taking a drag on his cigarette.

"Hey," I say.

There's a silence, but it isn't awkward. Stan turns around and leans back on the railing, his gaze lingering curiously on me. After a very long moment in which we just enjoy the scenery in silence, I say quietly, "How's life treating you?"

"Like it always does," he says. "Like a bitch."

I laugh dryly because every word he said was true.

We stand in each-other's company for a good ten minutes. By now the sun has almost completely disappeared over the hills. "What about you?" he asks.

Another dry laugh. "Just like I always does. Like a bitch in heat."

"Wanna talk about it?"

I look at him, one eyebrow raised, and then I reach out. Stan hands me the cigarette and I take a long drag. "Yeah," I say, smiling at him. "Yeah, I do."

**THE END.**

_Author's Note: Wow. I can't believe that's the end. I didn't know it would be till I started writing it. But guess what? I feel a sequel coming on! But I'm going to finish Colour Blind first; it's a short little thing, don't worry. Please read it! Craig and Kenny are sexy. :-) Please review! Thank you so much to everyone who have been reading this story since the beginning, and to all those who joined in later. Thanks to everyone who favourite and reviewed. You have no idea how much of a difference those reviews made. I never would have finished this story without you guys. I really hope you enjoyed it. Onwards and upwards!_


	22. Um, Author's Note, Much?

**Hey y'all.**

**Don't freak, it's not a surprise ending chapter! LOL.**

**I got some mixed reviews and I just wanted to address everyone and explain what's gonna happen now.**

**So to the people who DIDN'T like the ending...sorry to disappoint you. That's all I have to say.**

**To the people that DID: I'm glad you liked it. I really wanted to do something different, because an ending where they ended up together despite Kyle's manipulative ways seemed cliché. So I changed things up a bit.**

**So I decided that I am going to write a sequel to this, as there are ENDLESS possibilities. Who knows? You might get your Kyman after all...? But seriously. Now that I've sort of introduced Stan back into the story, who knows what could happen. So stay on the alert (maybe subscribe to me as an author...? hint hint nudge nudge) for a sequel. I have no idea what it will be called, but we'll see. :-)**

**Anyway, thanks again to EVERYONE—even the dudes who were disappointed because your opinion matters too—for supporting me through this story. It was a pleasant write.**

**See ya at the sequel!**

**AllzStar**

**P.S. ...please read my Crenny story! It's been neglected lately... :-(**


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